Amor Vincit Omnia
by alizabethianrose
Summary: Punk finds himself in a lose/lose situation, at the beck and call of a man who makes his skin crawl. He commits himself to the situation the only thing he finds that seems to make it bearable is a man who he's turned down more times then he can count. They say love conquers all can it survive when you've made a deal with the devil? Punk/Colt Punk/Vince Co-authored by lamentomori
1. Caveat

**Okay typical disclaimers, I own no one, they own themselves. This is slash and has a mature warning for a reason. It has theme's of coercion, dom/sub toys and smut! If you don't like it I suggest you hit the back button or the little x in the corner. Okay so I wrote this and sent it to Lamentomori who did a complete amazing job editing and reworking this to something I felt happy to post. So although not official I am calling her my co-author on this piece of work as she made everything a million times better and helped hugely with the dialogue and with Colt's character. Go read her stuff, she is amazing!**

* * *

Estrada calls me and tells me I have been summoned, not to see Estrada but by the man himself. Vince McMahon wants to see me and I'm not sure why. I'm on ECW; he has paid little or no attention to me. He compared me to Jeff Hardy, one of the few times I've met him and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Plus avoiding the man, means he can't fire me. So avoiding him is what I've done for the last several months, avoid Vince and keep to the path Paul Heyman planned out for me before being fired. I've never questioned Paul's plan, the man is brilliant and because of him, I've made it to TV, the place I was never supposed to be, slowly making more appearances on Smackdown. This is what most likely put me in Vince's atmosphere, showing up on one of his shows that mattered. I think I might be getting fired. It wouldn't surprise me. None of the morons, who have Vince's ear, like me or think that I deserve to be here.

So on the day of the meeting, I find myself actually nervous, planning for my future after the WWE, a possible return to ROH, spending much needed time with neglected friends and family. Vince himself calls and tells me he is running behind schedule. He requests we meet later, this evening. I agree, although this is just going to draw out the anxiety I have building. When he finally calls, I'm surprised when he requests I meet him in his room. I take a cab to the much nicer hotel he is staying at and make my way up to his penthouse suite. He opens the door and I feel my nerves increase. The main room has a table that he has covered with paperwork. He gestures me over to him and I sit. He offers me a drink, I thank him and accept the bottle of water. I take several long gulps and roll the bottle between my hands, thankful for something to do with them. This man literally holds my future in his hands and I know enough to be respectful. He pulls out the chair opposite me and picks up a file, flipping through it. "Hard worker, has an attitude, no respect for authority, should never be pushed. Your file doesn't make for pleasant reading." I know and want to tell him that it's a load of bullshit but honestly it's kind of true.

"I understand what people are saying about me, it's what they always say about me and I'm sure you've heard it all before. So why meet me about it now, Mr. McMahon?" Vince chuckles and stands, walks over to the bar and he pours himself a drink.

"I've been debating shutting down ECW, and deciding who I'm going to keep in the roster. Your name has come up as one to cut if I decided to follow through."

"You're firing me?" He shakes his head, sitting back down in his seat.

"I didn't say that. I have not made my mind up yet. I know you're somewhat talented; you might even deserve a push. I'd consider giving you one, hell maybe even put a strap on you." He takes a drink from his glass, I fidget in the chair, there's a catch here, and I just don't know what. Vince McMahon doesn't just say he'd give me everything I could want without a catch. "That is if you accept my proposition." The catch, I was waiting for that. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors about Jeff Hardy and myself, that we're in something of a relationship." He says the word like it had personally offended him and I nod who the hell backstage hasn't heard those rumors or seen enough evidence to confirm them as true. Jeff gets pushed; drugs get ignored because he's letting Vince use him as a sex doll. And suddenly, it dawns on me, I've heard rumors, Vince is unhappy with Jeff, he's looking for a new toy. That's the proposition; let Vince fuck me and get everything I want, don't and get fired. I swallow hard, staring at the water bottle in my hand. "I have decided it is time to end my little relationship with Jeff. I'm looking for a replacement. You intrigue me, Punk and I want you as the replacement."

"I'm not gay" I state and hear him laugh, mocking and cold.

"I don't care. Your sexuality doesn't concern me, hell it'd work in my favour! You'd be more secretive then Jeff ever was, and it means you're a virgin. It's been a while since I met a wrestler who hasn't spread their legs before making it big but I have a feeling that it never even crossed your mind." I shake my head, nope never slept my way to the top and have no clue why I haven't left. I'd always left the room at the offer before, so why am I still here?

"I'm not interested Vince. That you would think I would be, is ridiculous. I'm leaving. Fire me all you want." I head for the door, getting the hell out of here the only thing on my mind. He clears his throat, loud and deliberate. I turn to glance at him, instincts screaming to get the fuck away from this man and his fucking offer.

"You've a lot of friends in ECW, right, Punk?" I nod, not sure what he is getting at but I have a feeling it might be something I'm not going to like. "I'll consider keeping ECW around a while longer, the people you care for, your friends, they'll keep getting pay-checks, if you agree. Refuse me and it all goes." I swallow, my mouth feels dry like I've tried to eat a hundred graham crackers, and I'm not sure how to react to that threat. My choice, it affects so much more than me, would he really close down ECW just because I refuse to let him fuck me? I lick my lips; I need to hear him out. I can still refuse, there's no harm in just listening, might even give me an advantage. I sit back down.

"Explain it to me, everything, total disclosure. Full details on what you'd expect from me, what I get in return." He smiles at me, taking sip of his drink and relaxing in his seat, confidence and arrogance oozing from him.

"It's simple really; your body belongs to me, to do with as I wish." He pauses, his smile bleeds into a leer, and I can feel my skin crawling and fidget. "You will not sleep with anyone else. Man, woman, doesn't matter, you will not be in a relationship. As long as I choose to keep you, I am the only one allowed to fuck you. When I call, you come, if I want to take you away, you go, I say jump, Punk and you say how high." I stare at him; I roll the bottle of water around in my hands some more, at his beck and call perpetually, till he gets sick of me, I already feel sick just thinking about it. "This is private, just between the two of us. Do you understand?" I open my mouth to speak but he glares at me, that he holds my professional future in his hands, the futures of those I care for most in them too burns. I snap my mouth closed and nod. "In exchange you get a push; you get to be a star. I'll use my influence with Creative to make you win/loss columns look good. Hell, be a good boy and I'll even consider putting the ECW strap on you. It's your choice, you want something and I'm feeling magnanimous, I can and will make it happen." I bite at my lip ring, twisting the metal round and round. I should turn him down, I'm not even remotely attracted to him but this could ensure my future, the future of everyone I care about in this company.

"You know, this, proposing this arrangement, threatening my job, threatening the jobs of my friends, this is illegal, Vince. Sexual harassment." He nods, seems more amused than concerned. "How long?" I ask him all he does is raise an eyebrow. "How long would this arrangement last?" I feel cornered; his eyes are boring into me, like he's trying to pluck my decision out of my head.

"For as long as I want, or until I get bored, whichever comes first?" I take another drink of the water, wondering why I am not leaving. This feels so wrong, so taboo and yet that aspect of it kind of turns me on and I really don't want to dwell on that thought because this is illegal, this is wrong in more than the it's a little naughty sense and he's leering at me.

"If I wanted out?" He shakes his head, sharp and firm. I don't get any say in that, apparently. "You ended it with Jeff, why?"

"Jeff developed feelings." His voice is an odd mix of disgust, superiority and apathy. "A strict no-no, Punk. I put up with his clinginess, his neediness, and being overly affection in appropriate places because he has a tight ass, and a great mouth, but it became too much so I ended it. Well, at least I will be, tonight, if you agree to this." Nope, not happening, I heard him out and have no desire to go through with this. He wouldn't really shut down a whole promotion just because I refused to be his boy toy.

"Thanks but no thanks, Vince. Not interested, I suggest you find someone else." He smirks and takes another sip of his drink.

"Fine, but why not do me a favour and take twenty four hours to think it over. Expect a call from Estrada by the end of the night." He looks me over, his eyes lingering in places, I'd rather they didn't.

"You'll find I'm not joking, Punk, the little wrestling show you love will disappear and then maybe I'll go after that other company, what is it? ROH?" He smirks at me, swills his liquor in the glass. "Or maybe, I'll make it more personal; go after someone closer to home?" I cringe but refuse to answer, storming from the room and slamming the door behind me. I will not be intimidated by this man. He may be powerful but not even Vince McMahon has that much fucking power.

* * *

I am back in his room the next night but this time I came here of my own freewill, pounding on the door, demanding entrance. He wasn't joking, bout two AM, I got a call, someone telling me that ECW was being shut down, that no one was being kept. Then Gabe, this morning, excited but confused, somebody had contacted him about ROH, is it for sale, their interested in purchasing it. The worst, the absolutely fucking worst was call three, Colt. Colt, the ink barely dry on his contract. Colt, who's stuck in OVW, working, trying to make his way up. Colt who called me, defeat in his voice, he wasn't going to get called up, they see no potential, and they're done with him.

He didn't see it coming, no one did, no one could, and it just suddenly came down the line that Vince wasn't happy with his performance. As if Vince had ever seen him perform. Closer to home, his words from last night. He has no idea how too close that is.

"So how was your day?" He's practically laughing at me as I pace his room. I'm beyond pissed off with this fucker, he is leaving me no choice, accept his deal or watch the people I love suffer. As much as it infuriates me, as much as I loathe having no control, there's that part of me that finds it a turn on, something slightly erotic about this helplessness.

"Just fucking perfect. Call it off, Vince. Why the fuck would you do this?" He gestures to the chair I sat in last night. I sit heavily staring at the bottle of water he places in front of me, before grabbing it. I can't hide my hatred from him; I know my glare shows exactly how I am feeling.

"I told you, it was your choice. All you need to do is agree to my terms and I can tell somebody that it was a clerical error. ECW is staying for the foreseeable future, the interested party for your little wrestling love disappears, and your little friend, Sean, Steve, Scott, whatever it is, gets to stay in OVW and with no outside interference. At the end of the day, Punk, it's all up to you." I lick my lip, flicking at the ring, thinking, trying desperately to find a way out of this.

"Why me?" I know I sound pathetic but I'm clutching at straws.

"Why not you? I like my men on the smaller side, in bed, at least. You've talent." He smirks at me, a leer in his eyes. "And you don't want it, that's more than reason enough." I hate him, I honestly hate him. Yet, what choice do I have? None, no choice at all, it's agree or watch everyone I give more than two fucks about suffer. I take a deep breath, letting escape from my lungs slowly, I need to negotiate terms, I need to wrestle some kind of an upside to this.

"One year, Vince, one year and I can end it if I choose to." He considers my words and then smiles, holding up two fingers.

"Two years and then we can renegotiate." I nod, grim and resigned, it's better than what he was offering in the first place.

"No one finds out, no one, Vince. If I agree to this, even those close to you, don't find about it." He nods but then, I knew he would, he won't have a problem keeping it quiet. "When does this agreement start?" He pulls out some papers and hands them to me, a new contract, better pay, guaranteed title run, a few perks like travel expenses.

"You sign that, it is an agreement, then our agreement, starts tomorrow morning. It'll give me time to be done Jeff and for you to finish with whoever you're fucking." I read over the contract, I should throw this fucking sheath of paper back at this asshole but if I do, the consequences, they're so steep.

"If I don't sign, don't agree then I'm fired? Everyone in ECW, and Colt too?" He looks at me, eyebrow raised, his fucking smirk on his face. "And you are an incredible asshole?"

"Now, Punk, why would you assume that? There are other people I could get rid of over you. I mean I could keep you around, make you the Chicago Brawler till the end of your contract. As I said, it's all up to you." He smirks.

"That's fucking blackmail" I spit, my body tense, the water bottle crackling under my fingers.

"No, it's not." He says shortly. "It's the truth. You don't need to be fired, but there are others who could be. You've some talent; do you really want to spend the remaining years of your contract jobbing to guys with a lot less than you?" I stare at him, how can one man be such a fucking asshole? "One thing to remember, Punk, if you agree and you piss me off, there will be consequences." I close my eyes tightly, rubbing at the back of my neck. I've got no choice, I think, grabbing the pen from the table signing the contract. He holds his hand for me to give it to him. As soon as the paper is in his hand, he drops it and his fingers wrap around my wrist. "One more rule"

"What?" I snap, resisting the urge to pull my wrist away from him.

"You don't get jealous. I will see other people. I will spend time with my wife. I will sleep with other men. Just know that, you are my number one pet." Pet, I cringe, as he stands and hauls me to my feet. He pulls me close, my body tense and rigid against him, rebelling at the enforced closeness.

"Don't fucking worry, there's literally no chance of me getting jealous. A little unfair how you get to fuck around and I don't." He laughs and his hand slides down my back groping at my ass, he is anything but gentle and it take all of my willpower not to shudder. Running out of the room, it seems like a really good fucking plan. He sniffs my neck and I try to pull away from him. "Anyone ever been in here?" His hand slaps my ass and I shake my head.

"Thought we established that I'm not fucking gay, Vince." He laughs and presses his lips to mine. I keep them sealed shut, till he pinches my ass, hard. I make what is the most pitiful noise I've ever heard and his tongue surges into my mouth. I stand there letting him kiss me, not responding but not pulling away, my whole body rigid, like everything, my mind and body have no way to process what's happening. When finally he pulls away, alls I can taste is the burn of alcohol in my mouth. I quickly swipe at my lips with the back of my hand, he raises an amused eyebrow. "You taste like liquor." I snap and he chuckles finally letting me go.

"I find your resistance very, arousing. The fact that you're straight that makes it so much better for me. I'm going to enjoy proving how much you love a good, hard dick in your ass, very soon, Punk." He walks back to the desk and opens a drawer, watching me closely. He comes back to me, and hands me a cell phone, "This is my phone, no one gets this number, no matter what time of day or night you answer it, and no matter where you are or what you are doing you come to me understand?" I nod, his phone, his little bell to ring when he wants to fuck me. I put it in my pocket, feeling its weight like it was made of lead. The next thing, he holds out to me, alarms me. I wonder what the hell he wants me to do with it. "This, Punk, is a butt plug, I'm sure you know how one works." I nod the name explains enough "It's not as big as I am, but play with it tonight, and make sure its inside you when I call for you tomorrow." I can't stop the shudder that runs down my spine. "I'd suggest you get used to things in your ass, Punk." He says coolly. "Stretch yourself out with this tonight. I don't intend to be gentle, virgin or not."

"Our arrangement doesn't start until tomorrow, Vince" I state, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Your choice, Punk, though, I wouldn't want to be you, when I pop that cherry of yours with no prep. Remember, tomorrow starts at midnight" I grab the plug stuffing it into my hoodie pocket and move to open the door. "See you soon, Punk, very soon." I can hear the leer in his voice and leave, heading back to my own hotel, shell shocked by all this.

* * *

As soon as I arrive at my room, I start pacing. I see no way out of this. I finally cave and call my girl. Whilst it was going to come to an end soon, I never expected it to be under these circumstances. Once she finishes calling me every type of bastard under the sun, my phone is almost drained so I plug it into the socket and flop down onto the bed. Grabbing my phone, I call Colt. I need his advice; no one is supposed to know but Colt, he won't tell anyone. As soon as he answers, I spill everything, and wait for him to respond.

"That's heavy man; I so wouldn't want to be in your shoes." He sighs. "If you're worried about me, don't. Think about yourself, Punk, not anyone else."

"What choice do I have?" He sighs again and I wait for an answer.

"It all depends on what you want. What you're willing to sacrifice to get to the top." Apparently, I'm willing to sacrifice a lot; I signed the fucking contract after all. "You're good but are they going to acknowledge it without a fight or someone backing you. Either way you look at it, Punk, I think you're fucked, just one way, you're literally fucked." He laughs softly; I can feel myself smiling in response. I might not be gay but Colt is, hell, he's hit on me more than a few times. He's someone I can trust, someone I can ask for advice on this agreement

"Does it hurt? What's it like? Do you bleed? How do I prepare for it?" Words come tumbling out Colt laughs and I can practically, see him rolling his eyes at me.

"I've never bottomed, not my thing but if there is no prep, then yes, Punk, it hurts, might always hurt a little, I don't know. I'll ask next time I get lucky." He laughs again, I know he's trying to lighten the mood but you can't lighten a fucking blackout.

"Colt, take this fucking seriously." I snap at him, he sighs softly and adopts a rather clinical tone.

"Without adequate preparation and lubrication, anal bleeding can occur, anal fissures are more than likely."

"Fissures?"

"Tears." He clarifies.

"I don't want my ass torn up!" He laughs at me, loud and overly amused. "Don't fucking laugh at me!"

"Don't be fucking hilarious then. Look, Punk, if it's done right then getting fucked, should feel real good. It should get you off." I sigh; I really don't believe that in the least. "Punk, you've fucked a woman in the ass, right?"

"Yes." I say, cautiously, I'm not entirely certain where he's going with this.

"How do you make it feel good for her?" He asks, voice still betraying his amusement.

"Clit." The answer is short and true. "You're not going to tell me I have a clit, are you Colt? Cause I hate to disappoint you but there's a reason you hit on me when you're drunk."

"Actually, it's your pretty little ass but never mind." He laughs.

"Fuck you." I snap.

"I can't believe I'm saying this. Punk do you have lube?"

"Yes."

"Okay, use it. Prep yourself, use the plug he gave you, use your fingers, find your prostate, that'll help you enjoy it. Explore your body, Punk, find out what feels good, what you don't like. Use it to your advantage." I can't believe he said that either. "And Punk, relax! If it happens, if you go through with this, don't tense up." I sigh looking at the table I go over to my bag and rifle through finding my bottle of lube and toss it down beside the plug.

"Would you think less of me if I went through with this?" I think less of myself for considering it.

"No!" He answers almost before I finish talking, voice sharp and quick. "No, of course not, Punk. You're my best friend; I'll be behind you if you need me. Just do what you think is right. If you need something, anything, call me, Punk." His voice is soft, earnest and full of quiet emotion. I thank him and hang up.

The phone from Vince goes off. I stand and walk over to it, opening it up and seeing a text. I swallow nervously at the image of a large penis, which fills the screen. Can't wait to see this fucking you today its 12:02 send me a picture of you naked and hard, or call me and have phone sex. Your choice Punk. I have never taken a picture of myself the way he wants, it'd end up on the internet knowing my luck but I doubt that would happen with Vince and there is no way I am having phone sex with him. So I strip off my clothes, I grab the lube and coat my dick, laying back on the bed, I stroke myself to hardness, trying not to think of the size of his penis and how uncomfortable that is going to be inside of me. Once I'm hard, I head to the bathroom and snap a quick photo in the mirror. I send it to Vince then delete it from the phone. I know I gave him ammunition but does it matter, he already has everything he needs, has already proved he's willing to go to extreme lengths to get his own way. I can't back out of this, if I do I'm fucked, but then again, like Colt said, any way you look at it I'm fucked.

I head back to the bed and lay down. I examine the plug, it's a lot smaller then Vince and I have a feeling it won't really prepare me for the man. I lube up a few of my fingers, and force one into my body, trying to relax. It's not painful exactly but very foreign and odd. I work it in as far as I can and then wiggle it about, move it in and out, it doesn't feel good exactly but isn't as bad as I pictured. I add a second finger slowly and work them in and out, scissoring myself, stretching, and pumping, looking down at my flaccid cock and hoping I can learn to enjoy this. Vince is going to expect that, I can tell. This isn't working, I think, as I pull my fingers from my body and call Colt again. "Where the hell is the prostate and how do you find it?" I snap at him and he chuckles.

"You want me to come pop your cherry?" He laughs.

"Fuck you, Colt."

"Your prostate is in your ass."

"I guessed that but where? I missed butt fucking boys 101." He laughs at me again and I'm sorely tempted to hang up on the fucker but I need his advice, so I'll have to endure his mockery.

"Shame, it was a good class. Lie on your back, Punkers, spread your legs, and slide a finger in your ass, okay?"

"Uh-huh." I ease a finger into myself as he directed.

"Run it along the top of your anus, kind of towards your stomach, and you'll feel it. It's kind of harder flesh than what's around it, then play with it, till you find what feels good."

"Oh" It takes me a little while but I know when I've found it, my body jerks and my penis starts to harden as electricity flows through my body.

"Are you fingering yourself, Punkers?" His voice is strangely rough.

"Um, maybe?"

"The image in my head at the moment is hot, Punkers." He laughs.

"Fuck off. Don't fucking picture me in your head, you fucking pervert!" I snap at him, brushing over my prostate again, shivers running down my spine.

"Then don't fucking stick your fingers up your ass on the phone with me! I'm going, have fun." He hangs up.

"Oh, fuck." I whisper and lick at my lips, this is interesting I think. I rub at my prostate and soon find my dick hard and myself enjoying the finger playing in my ass. I glance at the butt plug, its glass, with a few ridges and a curved tip and I think; now I know what that's for. I grab the lube and drizzle it over the plug, swallowing at the weight and even though it's not thick, I think it might hurt. I take a deep breath and remembering to stay relaxed, slowly work it into my body, the coolness of the glass sends a shiver through me. I wince when I feel my body stretching around it, I can feel myself trying to keep it out but I keep up the pressure until it's in and my breath catches. Yup the damn thing hits on my prostate and I slide it back and forth a little, my breathing grows heavy and I groan as Vince's phone goes off again, another text and I hope the man leaves me the hell alone soon. What are you doing? I growl and just snap a picture of the plug in my ass, sending it to him. A few seconds later and I still the hand that is jerking on my cock, I'm so close it's not fucking funny and Vince won't leave me the fuck alone. I open the phone and glare at the message, I'm not ready for this yet, but I reluctantly stand yanking on my clothes, leaving the plug in place, I head to his hotel, wondering why I even left. I want to fuck you now, come to my room, his words causing my head to swim. Am I really doing this, I wonder, am I about to let my boss fuck me?

* * *

**Okay please tell me what you think? Do you want more? Is it horrible, do you like it? I want feedback, I want it from everyone even those who normally lurk in the shadows (trust me I get it, I lurk in the shadows myself reading!) Please, please, please review this is me begging!**

**Lamentomori- Lady I can not express how grateful I am that I sent this to you and the amazing work you did! I am so thrilled with how this chapter turned out, though the standards for the next one is pretty damn high now!**


	2. De Fumo in Flammam

**Brief warning this chapter can be a little difficult to read, it is slightly non-con.**

* * *

I stand in front of Vince's door, thinking, stalling for time, knocking on this door, that makes this decision final, I knock and I agree. Technically, I know signing that contract made it final, sending him a nude selfie made it final, sticking this fucking plug up my ass made it final but this, this is the final step, this knock is the final nail in the coffin. The moment I knock, I want to run, fight and flight instincts warring with the knowledge I agreed to this. This is crazy, and yet what choice do I have? I'm here for a reason. I'm not fucking him for fun, this is for everyone else, for the people I care about, the people I love. It's just typical of my life, though, the one time I do something with fucking noble intentions and no one can or will ever know about it but Colt. I swallow and feel sick. Colt, he won't tell anyone, I can trust him with this, I know I can. I can feel panic clawing it's way over me again, my breathing speeding up. I need to calm down. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, as the door swings open. I force my feet to take me into the room. Vince shuts the door behind me and clutches my elbow, guiding me through one of the doors in the suite. Bedroom, I swallow hard at the sight of the bed. I try digging my heels in, I don't want closer to that thing but his hand continues to guide me further into the room. I'm trying to find words, trying to find a way out of this but there's nothing coming to me, nothing that Vince would accept as a good reason to let me go. He stops when we're a few feet away from the bed, and I stare at the pattern on the comforter, as he presses against my back, every third flower looks like a little screaming face, the spaces between them remind me of little grabbing hands. I need to calm down, I take another deep breath, exhaling through my mouth and his hands undo my jeans and my skin crawling as he slides them off my hips. They fall to the floor with a soft thud, and I'm exposed to him, I suddenly wished I'd bothered with underwear. I'm trying to think pleasant thoughts, hell, erotic thoughts, anything so that I can be relaxed for this and to try to enjoy myself but nothing is working. My mind is a torrent of panic, my stomach is roiling. I need to calm the fuck down, every first flower in the pattern look like a demon. I need to relax and to stop reading nightmares in floral bedspreads.

He wraps his hand around my length. I'm still hard from the butt plug jabbing at my prostrate with every step I took to get here. He rests his chin on my shoulder and I can almost feel his smirk. "Impressive, no wonder you get so many women to sleep with you." He sounds amused, indulgent even but I can't respond, all I can feel his erection against my ass and bile raising up my throat. Fight or flight is still desperate to kick in. I'm fighting to not punch the asshole then make a run for it. I agreed to this, I remind myself, this is for everyone I love, I just, I wish he would get it over with so I could leave. His hand slides around my body, and I lick my lips nervously, as he taps on the butt plug. "Do you like your present, Punk? Have you prepared yourself for me?" His voice still indulgently amused. My present, this fucking thing in my ass is hardly a present, I just about force a nod, eyes still trained on the flowered pattern of the comforter, every second flower looks like a body twisted in agony. "When I ask you a question, Punk." His other hand trails up my body, cradles my chin, his thumb stroking my bottom lip. "You answer with that smart little mouth of yours, or I could find something else for it to do." His voice is harsh and his thumb pulls my lip down slightly.

"Yes, I fucking prepared." I snap through clenched teeth, my hands balling into fists. Why won't he just get on with this? He makes a small noise, something amused and pushes me down onto the bed, forcing me to the middle and parting my legs roughly so he can kneel between them. My body is completely exposed to him and I cannot help the blush that appears on my face. Thankfully, I'm on my stomach so I can bury my face into the pillow, a tiny part of me wondering if I can, somehow, suffocate myself into unconsciousness so I don't have to endure what's coming.

"I asked if you liked your present, Punk" He pulls the plug almost completely out, before pushing it back in harshly. My breath is pushed out of my body as the plug is shoved in, the oddest sensation of pain tinged with pleasure, washing over me. He does this a few more times, fucking me hard with the plug, each time the air is forced from my lungs, if this is a precursor to the act, I have no idea how I'll handle it. Eventually, he slows his movements, rocking the plug inside of me, though I try to fight it, my body enjoys this slower, gentler treatment and a low moan slips from my lips. "And, there's my answer." He laughs softly, the sound feels like oil in my ears. "Clearly straight edge doesn't apply to this little ass of yours, Punk." I shudder and he strokes my ass, with a touch so gentle it could almost be a caress. I think I prefer the rough treatment, it leaves no room for doubt on what this is, but this gentle touching, I don't want to think about it. "I look forward to proving how much your ass enjoys being filled." He rocks the plug firmly into me, hitting my prostate dead on and with more force. I can't hold back the noise that escapes my mouth. "That's it, let me hear you. I like to hear the fruits of my labour." He laughs. "I always enjoyed it when Jeff would cry, so if it hurts, feel free to cry, Punk." He says, his lips close to my ear, his voice thick and low. I am never giving him that satisfaction; if he wants a weeping fucking princess then he should have kept fucking Jeff. "Roll over Punk." His tone is harsh, there is no room for argument and fight and flight gain an ally in my fucking stupid desire to fight authority. I'm grateful common sense and good reason haven't left me, though I could have done with them yesterday, two days ago, whenever it was this fucking asshole, first proposed this fucked up agreement.

I comply with his order and turn over, lying on my back, staring at the light fitting on the ceiling. I can't hide my face from him like this, and I think that is probably the point. He gets off the bed and I keep staring the ceiling as I hear his clothes hitting the floor. A quick glance over at him confirms that the picture, he sent earlier, showed the truth. He's fucking massive. He leers at me and I cannot take my eyes off his erection, I've to dig my fingers into the comforter below me to keep from bolting, no way in hell is that thing going to fit inside me.

He's back between my legs, leaning over me, he rubs his cock over my own, and I know I can't hide the panic on my face. His smug smile confirms that everything I'm feeling is there for him to see. He grinds his hips into mine and against my will another tiny pitiful noise leaves my mouth, I'm not sure if it's a moan, or a squeak of desperation. He lowers his mouth towards mine and I turn my head quickly, panic returning full force.

"Stopstopstop, please I can't, I can't do this. This, I don't want you, I can't, get off me! I can't! Please!" Panicked begging tumbles out of my mouth, as I try and push at his shoulders, hoping against hope that there's an ounce of compassion in this fucker. His lips touch my neck and I feel him laughing against my skin, then he bites down hard. I jerk in his arms, trying to pull away but he holds me firm, his mouth marking me. When he finally pulls back, I look into his eyes, the only thing there is lust, all consuming and fierce, I'm sure he didn't hear a word I said and yet alls I can think is no one has ever looked at me like that before, my throat feels dry as I try to swallow.

"You agreed to this, Punk." He drops to his forearms, caging my head; one of his hands finds its way to my hair, stroking it with that confusing gentleness. "You want to stop, the door is right there." He jerks his head back. "One thing though, you'll have to start calling the boys in ECW and telling them they're released because that will be your job." His eyes narrow. "I want you, you want to be a wrestler, you deny me, I'll make you a fucking desk jockey till you contract expires, and your little buddy down in developmental? Well, once you future endeavour him, you can let him know that ROH won't be wanting his services either, it'll be nothing more than a third rate OVW but it'll be my third rate OVW." I close my eyes and feel a shudder pass through me, staring at the wall. I agreed to this, agreed for a reason, everything he just said, he's already proved he's willing to go that far to have me. Now that I've agreed, this might just be the tip of the iceberg. I agreed to this, and I guess, I have to participate; I force my body to grind up against his. This, this is admitting defeat but then again, I lost the moment I walked through the door and the bastard above me, he knew he'd won long before I got here. He turns my face towards him, his hand cradling my chin, his fingers dull points of pressure on my skin. I try, desperately, to picture someone else over me, my ex-girl, some generic pretty woman, someone, anyone, but certainly not who my mind summoned. Colt, my best friend, that's who my mind has pictured, his mouth against mine, his skin pressed against me, his hand gently stroking my hair, holding my chin in place with firm and careful pressure. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but to wonder what he tastes like, what he would feel like over me? Would it be like when we on the road together when we'd have to share a hotel bed, and I'd wake up in his arms? Would I feel comfortable, happy and safe or would it be too strange, too foreign, too different for it to work, would we fit together, would our similar heights make it too awkward, would it make it better? I'm so lost in my own, calming yet disturbing thoughts, that I barely notice when he pulls the plug from my ass.

Any safe haven my thoughts provided, is lost the moment my legs are pushed back, towards my chest and Vince's dick head is pressing against my hole. I try to remember Colt's words. I try to relax, try to not tense up, try to let him in, but my body is doing the exact opposite, is trying to keep him out. My body's resistance makes his smirk bigger and when he thrusts forward firmly, I feel like I've been impaled, my ass feels like it's been impaled with a red-hot poker. Oh, fuck, oh my fucking Christ, motherfucker, fucking hurts. I don't even know that the words are spewing from my mouth, till he laughs again. He pulls out from me and reaches under the pillow, pulls out a bottle of lube and coats his dick.

"This is for my benefit, not yours." He tells me harshly. "So fucking tight." He mutters and then shoves his cock back in me. I can feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. He seems to be waiting, I glance down, seeing he is nowhere near all the way in me, there's probably more of him out of me that in and I'm wondering if I can take anymore already. Refusing is not an option, though, and he forces more of himself into me. I clench my hands in the comforter, trying to stay still and not wrench free from him. I'm trying but fight and flight are trying to kick me into action. He begins to thrust, with each thrust he sinks deeper into me, finally after so long, I feel his balls on my ass. I think I'm going to throw up, he's so far inside me, it feels like I can feel his cock by my lungs, every breath I take I am more and more aware of the invader in my body. I agreed to this, I remind myself and try to force down my raising panic, focusing on the light fitting, it looks brass, possibly antique. This hurts, this fucking hurts more than anything I have ever experienced. How the fuck can Colt do this to people he cares about? It's a bitter thought, selfish and cruel, if it was Colt over me and not this bastard, I'm sure, it would feel better. If it was Colt, he'd stroke my hair and ask me if I was okay, he'd wait for me to say yes, he'd be gentle, he'd be careful. A powerful thrust jolts me from my thoughts and I grunt in pain. I hope he's quick, I hope Jeff was happy to get out of their relationship because this asshole has premature ejaculation.

Hope is fickle and often cruel; it feels like he's been pounding my ass forever. Then, he changes his angle, my body jerks up against his, the pain, the mind numbing pain, starts to fade, bleeding into something else, not quite pleasure but close, horribly close. I want this over with so when he tells me to I touch myself, I do. My body begins to move with his, betraying me, revelling in the pleasure my mind can't comprehended. I'm not supposed to enjoy this, nothing about this is supposed to feel good, this is to save my friends, the people I care about, so when I feel my cum splatter onto my hand and stomach, it startles me.

I glance down and feel more tears burning in my eyes; I blink them away quickly, staring up at the ceiling. My body betraying me is one thing, but having Vince watch it, leer at me as I come, it's just too much, so I lay there waiting for him to finish. His thrusts become rougher, faster and I make some kind of wounded sound, as I feel him come inside of me, the feeling of his semen hot and sharp in my ass. The desire to throw up returns. He lays on top of me for a while, his breath on my neck and I want out, I want away, I want this weight off of me, I want him out of me. Finally, he pulls out, and rolls off of me, lying beside me with a Cheshire cat grin, giving my hair another one of those awful gentle touches. He reaches down and picks up the butt plug, shoving it back in place. I grimace, this is to prove a point, to keep his cum in me longer, to stop me from forgetting it's there, that I let him put it in me. "I'm done, go." I stand, carefully collecting my pants from the floor and putting them on as quickly as my aching body will allow. "Remember, Punk." I glance at him. "This was your choice. You agreed to this." I nod, I know I agreed, but it wasn't a choice, it was never a choice. "In the future I want more participation; this isn't a one man show." He laughs and stretches, turning his back to me, I'm dismissed, I guess. "Punk!" He says sharply as I'm almost out of the bedroom. "Next weekend, we are going away to my second house." A whole weekend of this, I don't know if I can do this again, never mind all weekend. "I have a room at the house that I'm sure you will learn to love. It's got a swing, lots of fun toys to play with." I swallow heavily, my mouth dry again, something tells me the fun toys aren't going to be a jungle gym to go with that swing. Through the bedroom door, I notice for the first time the mess that living area is, like a bomb went off in it.

"What happened?" I have no idea why I asked, I don't care, I don't want to be here any longer and yet once I walk out of this suite, what just happened becomes something I have to live with and I don't want to start dealing with it yet.

"Jeff didn't take being replaced well." I feel even sicker. "The fact that I replaced him with you was hard for him." He told Hardy. I turn and stare at the wall behind him, I can't look at him, I can't force myself to, he laughs loudly.

"Oh relax, I didn't tell him it was you, just that I found someone with a tighter ass. I've no intentions of telling anyone about our little agreement. Now get out, Punk. I'll see you on the weekend. Don't play with that hungry little ass of yours, you're bleeding, let it heal." He pulls the comforter over himself and switches out the bedroom light. Fissures, I think to myself, he tore my ass up and for some reason I can't help but think of Colt, of him warning me about this. I'm gonna have to ask him what to do about it. I really wished I'd attended butt fucking boys 101 now.

"Can I have the next few days off?" I want, I need to go home, I need to process this. I need some time away from here, away from the WWE.

"Be back Friday. I'll authorise a vacation." He sounds slightly irritated.

"I don't have vacation days." I know I sound slightly lost, my voice sounding strange and wispy, even to my own ears. I take a deep breath, I need to keep it together till I'm away from here.

"Did you read the contract, Punk? It's one of the perks." His tone suggests that this vacation allowance is less a perk and more of a necessity. "Now get out." He snaps and I leave the room, walking to the elevator, my steps slow and careful, each one bringing new agony.

Once in the elevator, I rest my head against the mirrored wall, staring at my reflection. My hair's a mess, my eyes ringed with red, a nasty looking bruise on the side of my neck from his teeth. I can't stop the laughter bubbling up my throat, no matter how you look at it; I look fucked, literally and figuratively.

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**Thanks again for reading! This is now officially a fic co-authored by the incredible lamentomori who already knows how much I adore her for taking on this challenge. Please remember to review, we both love hearing from you guys, the good, the bad, and the ugly it's all constructive to us.**

**InYourHonour- Glad you are enjoying it so far, hope to keep you in!**

**littleone1389- I think the combination of our writing is creating something incredible thus far, we've talked about writing together and this just accidentally happened but it's a good accident. Lamentomori made sure there was a good reason for Punk to go through this, initially the first draft was not strong enough so she made sure he had no other choice and it works so much better.**

**Smngrfl88- Thank you the structure I attribute to Lamentomori, and the writing is a combination of two very different styles that she is able to flow together beautifully.**

**Brokenspell77- It is a complete honor to get a review from you, I love your work! Volatile is one of my favorite fics ever, and Addicted I have read it so many times. I am a huge Randy/Punk fan and your work is just wonderful and I am sure I have been lurking in the background not reviewing your work, so I will try to be better at that. Thank you so much for your kind words and I hope you continue to be intrigued by this work.**


	3. bellum omnium in omnes

**Anything in this chapter that is like this _(Punk's thoughts)_ is Punker's thinking to himself! Hope you enjoy!**

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I take a cab to my hotel room, it's not far but I need to wash this off of me, I need to be_ clean_. As soon as I am in the safety of my room, I wrench off my clothes, and ease the plug from my body as gently as I can. I glance at it and it takes all of my willpower to keep from throwing it at the wall, clinging to the ridges of the glass is a strange pinkish fluid, his cum and my blood. I take a deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth. Part of me, a big part, wants to breakdown, _but_ I refuse to give him that, he wants to break me, make me fall into line like the rest of his good little puppets and I won't, I refuse to let him break me. I stand in the shower, watching the near scalding water swirl down the drain, he can wound me but he won't break me. I'll do what he wants to survive this agreement but as soon as it's up, he can fucking forget _renegotiations_. When these two fucking years are up, I'm done and he'll regret ever fucking with me.

Bravado in a foggy hotel bathroom is one thing, reality is another, as soon as I arrived in my city, I hid. I ordered takeout, didn't leave my apartment, ignored calls, texts, emails, everything. What can I say, my walls are very interesting, there's a really awesome stain behind the TV, it reminds me of Rorschach's mask, every time I look at it, its changed shape, like now it's a cat attacking a cthulhu. Whilst my phone is on silent, the one he gave me is plugged in, awaiting the next summons.

My peace doesn't last long; it's only a few precious hours I get alone with my stain, before Colt shows up. I've never regretted giving him a key before now, but he is honestly the last man I want to see.

There's still a sliver of me that's still working out why I pictured him during, I don't know what to call happened in that hotel room. Is it rape if you say yes? Did I picture him because he's my gay friend? It'd only make sense to think of him the first time a man fucked me, right? Is it because the rough edge to his voice when he was telling me where my prostate was just on the alarming side of attractive? Right now, I'd say the stain looks like two swans fighting over an Oreo. It's not because of any feelings of attraction, I'm not gay and getting _fucked _isn't going to magically turn me that way. I don't know, I can't think about this. A tiny village being covered by a tsunami. Colt arrives with a pizza and a twelve pack of Pepsi I grunt and continue to stare at the stain.

"What you watching?" He asks, I can feel him looking at me.

"A doughnut being devoured by a thousand ants." I mutter, this stain isn't a good thing for me to be looking at, I think I'm going to have to get rid of it. "Do you have any bleach?"

"Punkers." He says my name softly, like, I don't know what, I've never heard him say it like that before. He sighs. "Want to talk about it" I shot him a glare and grab a can of soda. Talk sure. Talk about _it_? Nope, I never want to talk about it, think about it, or experience it again. Yet I'm going to have a whole weekend of it soon enough and I can trust Colt, he won't tell anyone. A Pegasus with an Uzi. He waits in silence, munching obnoxiously loud on the pizza, he really needs to learn to chew quieter, I think, as I turn from the stain to him, wincing at the action, my ass still hurts, sometimes breathing still hurts but I am quite sure that's psychosomatic. I had thought it might hurt but not this much, not for so long but then again, not that long ago I didn't expect to ever be fucked, so how was I to know. He looks at me, concern in his eyes, and then turns on his mother hen side. "How bad did he hurt you?" I shrug and rest my head on the back of the couch not wanting to look at Colt, not whilst that sliver is still wondering how it'd feel if he had come popped my cherry like he'd joked. "Hey, you okay? Did you bleed? Does it _still_ hurt?" He reaches out to me and I move as quickly and carefully from him as I can, bringing my knees up to my chest.

"I bled a little, now it just hurts." I chance a glance at him and regret it, he looks hurt, something miserable and anger in his eyes, I turn away quickly. "Why would anyone willingly put themselves through that?" I can feel his eyes studying me, examining me like a he was a scientist and I was a particularly interesting specimen.

"You didn't enjoy it at all? Did you get off?" Those are two entirely different questions, I think grimly. I didn't enjoy it in the least, I was raped with my own consent, getting off had nothing to do with it.

"I... I came." I mutter softly, closing my eyes, feeling sick, I miss my bathroom bravado. "But it hurt, Colt, it fucking hurt." He sighs and picks up his own soda, drinking for a long time and letting out a loud belch, I can't really resist the blatant offer of a contest. This is why this man is my best friend, I'm fucking staring at a stain on my wall, being slightly, ever so slightly, in shock after letting my boss fuck me so he can keep his job and he decides to engage me in a burping contest. Four cans of soda later and I'm feeling something more like me. I suppose there's more to this I should tell him. "He wants me to go to his place for the weekend; he's got a fucking room with a swing."

"Ooo, think he has a jungle gym too? I'll come if there's a jungle gym." He laughs softly and then sighs, looking at me, his eyes soft. "You could end it, Punkers. You don't have to do this to yourself. We'll be okay, there's other promotions out there." I shake my head.

"I can't, I can't have so many people unemployed because of me." I sigh softly. "It's not selfless, Colt, it's selfish. I couldn't handle having all that on me. I can handle this."

"Have you told anyone else?" He asks and I shake my head again.

"Who else is there to tell?"

"Ace?" I almost laugh, telling Ace, a fabulous idea, bring the wrath and fury of a man who is more of a pseudo father than my trainer. "I know he'd be pissed but he cares and could help when I can't."

"I shouldn't have told you, against the rules." I say softly.

"There's rules?" He picks up his can again, finishes it and sets it down on the coffee table. "There's a stain behind your TV." He says after a while. "Looks like Pepé Le Pew."

"I thought of you when he was fucking me." I blurt out, staring at the stain, I don't see cartoon skunks though, I see a floral bedspread with screaming faces and grabbing hands. I can feel his eyes on me; I can feel his discomfort in his stare.

"Well I am irresistible." He sounds odd, that rough tone almost in his voice again. "Actually I think it looks like the octopus chick from The Little Mermaid."

"Ursula." I say, I can kind of see what he means with that one.

"Why do you know that Punkers?" He sounds amused, that tone gone, normal slightly nasal Colt, no rumblingly confusing undertones in his voice.

"Watched it with The Cactus last time I saw her." I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. "I'm not allowed to have sex with anyone else; he can, but not me. How fucked up is that? I hate him, Colt; I hate him so fucking much." My mouth is getting away from me today. "You know the only reason I came is cause I thought of you." He coughs loudly and shifts uncomfortably beside me. This man has hit on me more times than I can count and I just told him that thinking of him during sex got me off and all he does is cough and shift around.

"I should go, Punk." He makes a move and I'm straddling his thighs.

"You could show me how to enjoy it, what it's supposed to feel like, teach me shit." He is blinking up at me. I think perhaps I am killing my relationship with my best friend and I really don't want him to do anything of the sort, what I want is him to wrap me up in his arms and let me hide there, at least till I can face this, because right now I can't.

"Punk." He says softly, trying to move me off of him.

"Is it rape if you say yes, Colt?" I stare out the window, its winter, there's snow falling and I can't help but wanting to be out there instead of in this mess of my own making.

"Did you want it, Punkers?" He asks me, turning my face to him, holding my chin in place with firm and careful pressure. I shake my head.

"I had to, I had no choice." The more I think on it, the more I know it's true, there was never any choice, McMahon had decided he wanted to fuck me and there was nothing that was going to stand in his way and now? Now I'm going to be his for a whole weekend and I'm having some kind of wall stain interpreting, best friend propositioning mental breakdown instead of planning for how I'm going to survive it. He sighs softly and moves me from his lap, tucks me in at his side instead.

"I'm behind you, Punkers, I got your back, you know that, right." I nod; his arm wrapped around my shoulders holding me close as my head settles on his. "I'll lend you some of my porn, the more instructional stuff." He laughs and I elbow him in the ribs. "What you're all for me fucking you to teach you but giving you homework is too much hassle? Lazy, Punkers, lazy."

"Fuck you, Cabana. I was, I _am_, under stress, I can't be held accountable for the shit that comes out of my mouth." I laugh, and elbow him again. We sit watching TV for some time, something mind numbing and amusing. "Colt?" I pull out of his arms; sit back on my own end of the sofa. I'm feeling a bit braver, bathrooms and being tucked under Colt's arm, that's where I can find bravado, apparently. "Some of the less _graphic _ones, okay? Something that'll spare my ass, a weekend is a fucking long time." He looks at me, shock in his eyes, he stands, walks towards the door and pauses.

"Or a long time fucking?" He laughs and I scowl at him. "I'll send you blowjobs from boys 101, when I get home, Punkers." He says as he leaves the apartment. I glance back at the stain, just an ugly sprawling mess of mildew; I think I have some bleach in the kitchen.

I'm sitting on the floor in front of that stain, a bottle of unopened bleach and a pot scrubber beside me, when the silence is broken by the last sound I wanted to hear, the text alert from Vince's phone goes off. I make my way over to it slowly, every step I'm painfully aware of my still sore ass, it's been so long but it still hurts. The text message informs me that Vince has sent me a package, items I should play with. I have no fucking clue what it is he's planning on sending me, even if it's something cool, I don't want them. It should be arriving today and he wanted to make sure I was home to get them. I text back a quick okay and set the phone down, going back to my cleaning products.

An hour later and the wall is sparklingly clean, small victories are something I am going to have to savour and this feels like a victory. I glance at my own cell sitting on the coffee table, one missed call and a text, both from Colt. My research material is in my inbox awaiting study. There was a big part of me that had been hoping that he wouldn't send me anything at all, but I should have known better. If he says he's going to do something, he does it; I just wish this once he'd been less dependable. It honestly doesn't look so bad; not really, I mean how hard can it be to just kneel there? Okay, that part will be hard, it's all submission and head games and I agreed to this, I agreed that McMahon could use me; I agreed that I would let him fuck me. This isn't about me, this is about everyone else, the boys in the locker room down at ECW, all of my hard work, all of my sweat and blood and tears in ROH and Colt, good old dependable Colt. This is for them, kneeling is nothing for them, though, I do wonder how the fuck I'm supposed to handle having to taste Vince in my mouth, I should have negotiated condoms, but it's too late for renegotiations now, besides, he'd never have agreed to it. Foggy hotel bathrooms, tucked under Colt's arm and small victories, that's where bravado lies.

My rambling thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door, FedEx with a package for me. I sign and take the box to the kitchen, setting it down on the table and staring at it. A good part of me would like to ignore it, stuff it in a closet and forget its existence but there's that other part of me, the part that always has to know, the part that refuses to rest in case it misses something interesting. I open the box and stare. A dildo, some lube and that's it. This was not exactly what I was expecting in the least. Vince's cell rings.

"Hello Punk." He sounds bored, intimidatingly bored.

"The fuck is up with your box?" Thankfully all he does is laugh, bravado is not good, this man holds everything in the balance, but at least I don't sound as pathetic as when I left that hotel room, at least I sound like myself.

"You don't like your present?" He laughs again; I can hear him moving around a room, opening a door.

"The fuck do you want me to do with this?" He laughs again.

"You can't _still_ be sore, Punk?" I close my eyes and resist the urge to throw the phone, he sounded so condescending, so painfully fucking smug. "Think of it as a throat plug." He laughs, I swallow loudly enough that I'm sure he must have been able to hear it. He wants me to practice blowing him, he's going to expect me to be able to take his entire monster, I can tell. Suddenly kneeling seems like so very much. "Get started, I want to hear the first time something forces its way into that smart mouth of yours."

"I..." I really don't have words, there's no force compelling me to do this but myself, I could pretend that I was doing as he asked, hell I could stick the damn video Colt sent me on and leave him to the sounds of some random porn star choking on a cock. Yet I find myself in the kitchen, the dildo in my hand. I force myself to wrap my lips around the tip, my jaw slightly protests at the way my mouth stretches to accommodate its width. I slide as much of it as I can into my mouth, barely a couple of inches before it hits the back of my throat. I feel my gag reflex kick in and pull it back, panting slightly.

"Relax your throat." His voice is strangely soft, like those confusing strokes to my hair. "You'll get used to it, soon enough Punk." I try again, sliding the fake cock back in my mouth and getting it a little deeper this time before gagging and pulling it out. "Good boy." He murmurs, I bristle, how fucking _dare_ he patronise me, talk to me like I was his pet. "When we do this, I'll be fucking that mouth of yours hard and deep, Punk. Keep going." A third time and I manage about half of the dildo before; I'm gagging, pulling it out of my mouth with a sputtering cough. "How far?" He asks, his voice hovering oddly between bored and rapt.

"Half." I croak, I set the dildo down and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I drink from it slowly, swallowing carefully as my throat hurts.

"I want three-quarters before I hang up, Punk. Get to it." I can't help but wonder if he'd know if I lied to him, if I told him he had his three-quarters and hung-up but there's a part of me that is beginning to this is in some _seriously_ fucked up way for my benefit. For all I hated it, for all it hurt worse than any other pain, for all its left me _wounded_, without the butt plug, he gave me, being fucked would have been _so _much worse. In his own twisted way, this is McMahon trying to help me. I close my eyes and let the dildo in as far as I can, halfway again, I gag once more. "_Relax_." He snaps, I need to focus on something else, my mind casting about desperately for something, coming to the most gentle of the videos Colt sent me. A slender man, covered in ink, on his knees, gazing up adoringly at his lover, bigger, more solid. His big hand in his hair, guiding him forward, easing his cock down his throat, murmuring soft encouragement _("You can take this, it's okay.")_, gently, easy, slow. Big, strong hands in his hair, familiar, comfortable, safe _("You can do this, Punkers.")_ I pull the dildo from my throat far too harshly.

"Three-quarters." My voice is rough and my mind is racing. I thought of Colt, _again_. I need to get new gay friends, more gay friends, maybe some lesbian ones too. Two hot chicks and this fake cock dripping with my spit, a much better mental image.

"Good, keep practicing. A car will be there to pick you up on Friday." He sounds infinitely bored once more. "Don't bother packing anything." He hangs up and I grab my bleach once more, I think there's another stain in the bathroom.

I keep myself hidden from the world for the rest of the week. I reluctantly watch the videos again, trying to look for tips. I even more reluctantly practice with the dildo some more. I wonder how do I survive the weekend at his house, how do I pretend I want to be there, to participate, to force myself to enjoy it. I settle on keeping my mind purposefully blank, that might be the best way to survive this. A blank mind, not thinking of anything, just enduring what is being done with a smile. Endurance will be my small victory.

On Thursday night, I get a call from Colt.

"Hey Punkers, you doin' okay?" No, I really don't want to talk to you, is what I want to say but a lie comes tumbling out instead.

"I'm good."

"You sure? I just... Look Punkers-" I can't take hearing that name from him, a brief thought to get my mind off of something terrible, that I have made peace with and I don't need him dragging this up. _("You can do this, Punkers.")_

"What do you want?" He sighs, sounds desperately unhappy and for a moment I want to apologise, this, it isn't his fault. It's not his fault that my fucked brain is trying to find comfort in thoughts of it being him touching me. It makes sense, eventually, after you think about it for three days solid. He's my best friend, I trust him with _everything_, I may as well trust him with my body too, only I'm not attracted to him, I'm attracted to the safety he'd give me but Colt, he's Colt and that's just not sexy.

"I... I'm behind you, okay. You need me, I got your back. Gimme a call Monday, lemme know you're okay." He says, his voice full of concern and he's done nothing to deserve my anger.

"I'm sorry." I sigh and close my eyes, he's just checking up on me. _("You can do this, Punkers.")_ "I'll call you when I'm free."

"Okay. I'm here if you need me but you can do this, Punkers." He says softly and I feel burningly sick.

"Yeah. Bye." I hang up and curse the fact that all of my walls are currently spotless.

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**Lamentomori and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and we would really like your feedback, come on don't be shy, we don't bite!**

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**littleone1389- Thanks for the great review, yes Punk is still very hesitant and I think as a straight male, or how he see's himself as a straight male this is confusing to him, his feelings for Colt are going to be very difficult for him to wrap his mind around.**

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	4. Fortes Fortuna Iuvat

When I step from the car, I can almost feel myself shaking. I look up at the large house in front of me, and take a deep breath. As soon as the car arrived to pick me up in Chicago, every instinct I had was screaming run, they still are. From luxury car to private jet, to luxury car, nothing changed the fear and anxiety building in me. I stand, riveted to the spot, staring at this fucking huge house, when the driver sets my bag at my feet, jolting me from my staring. He looks at me, I glance his way and shrug, I've no money to give him a tip. He gets in the car and I hear it pull away. This is it, I think to myself as I grab my bag. Despite him telling me not to, I had to bring some things with me. I'm working Monday morning, expected in Philly, and I think, maybe, the Smackdown taping Tuesday. I'd have had no time, to get my shit together so I packed. If he doesn't like it, fuck him. My bag and I make the trek to the house, the drive, despite this being his second house and right by the beach, is long, and yet it feels far too short, I am willingly walking to, I assume, the worst weekend of my life.

The door's open a little, so I walk straight into the foyer. This is his second house, I remind myself, I've never been in anywhere other than a hotel with a fucking foyer and this is this asshole's second fucking house, the amount of money in this one small room is more than I'll ever make in my whole life. I might be walking straight to my own ruin but I can still appreciate the beauty that sufficient money can buy.

I hear him call my name and head for where the noise came from, coming to a large kitchen. He's leaning against a granite counter, wearing an almost gentle smile. It throws me, him fucking me, his domineering, I can handle, I've prepared for that but these slivers of something like affection, I hate them, it makes no sense to me.

"Punk, welcome to my home. Let me show you around." He takes my bag from me and leaves the room, showing me around. The living room, dining room, entertainment room, ridiculously fucking huge bathroom, with a tub that's bigger than my entire apartment are on the first floor. So is a pool house. Upstairs are several bedrooms, fucking huge bedrooms, every one of them a testament to the amount of money this asshole has. He stops at one, the bedclothes starkly white, window open making the curtains flutter in the breeze, fucking flowers in a vase; it's like something out of Home and fucking Gardens. He sets my shitty little bag on the bed and turns to me.

"This is your room." I stare at him, my eyes narrow and I take a deep breath, this is when the pain, the fucking, starts. He takes my hand in his, giving it almost a gentle squeeze, I wrench it free and keep staring at him. "My room is across the hall." He says, as he steps closer and takes the band holding my hair back, out.

"We're not sharing?" I snap, he shakes his head and laughs.

"I'm not that heartless, Punk. I'll give you some space. When you're ready, my bed will always welcome you." He tucks my hair behind my ears and leaves the room, clearly expecting me to follow. I don't know what to think of this. My own room, my own fucking whiter than fucking white room, so fucking white it reminds me of a padded cell and his across the hall. His is the only room that I've not been shown yet. He leads me back to the kitchen and opens a door I'd not noticed before. He ushers me towards it and I descend the stairs, gulping as my eyes take in the room. This is where the swing was hiding, no jungle gym, but so many other things, so many things I've never seen outside of porno. My whole body tenses as he wraps his arms around my waist, his chin on my shoulder. "This, right here. This is my favourite room. One day, soon, you'll play with me here." His lips brush my ear. "It's too much to ask right now." I tense even more, what the fuck is his angle here, I don't understand, he brought me here to fuck me, to use me in this fucking kinky sex dungeon, not to put up in his padded cell white guest room. "Relax." His voice soft in my ear and I want nothing more than to elbow this fucker and run. I don't get this, what the fuck is the point in this facade. "We won't be down here again this weekend. I just wanted to show you, what's waiting for when you're ready." He fucking told me that I was coming to play this weekend, and now he's not going to use this damn room. I had my brain prepared for it. I'd spent a week getting ready for this, what the fuck is his game. As much as I want to ask, as much as I want answers, I can't begin to form words, so when he lets me go and starts walking back up the stairs, I follow. He locks the door to the basement with a heavy key, and reaches over to me again, tucking my hair back behind my ear. "One day, Punk." He sounds soft, fucking wistful. "One day, you'll play in there willingly." I have to fight my instincts again; they're screaming run at me.

"I doubt it." Sometimes, I'd like a little warning before my mouth lets stupid shit leave it. He laughs and takes his hand from my hair.

"We've a dinner reservation at eight. Until then, enjoy yourself, I have work to do. I'll pick your outfit. I guessed on the sizes so the clothes may be a little tight." He smirks slightly, that familiar leer on his face. "But then again how anyone can appreciate your assets, the way you hide in such baggy clothing." Okay, this I can deal with, him being controlling, I can handle, that nice shit, fucking forget it.

"We're going out? In public? Where people can see? That is not part of the deal." He smiles, almost patronizingly and runs his fingers through my hair again.

"A private club." He strokes my cheek, rubbing at the stubble there, eyes narrowed. "No one will question anything, no one there will care." Shown off at the gentleman's club is my agenda for the night I guess, at least if we're eating out, he won't be pawing at me. "Before I get to work, give me your cell." I give him a look and shake my head. "No interruptions to this weekend, so hand it over." His voice back to the painfully bored tone. "We can do this the hard way, if you like Punk, have me look for it on you and believe me when I say, your pockets are the last place I'd look." I yank both phones out of my hoodie quickly, holding them out. He only takes my cell phone leaving me with his. "I'll be in the office, if you need anything. There's Pepsi in the fridge, junk in the cupboards. Don't eat too much, dinner at eight." With that he leaves me standing in his kitchen, feeling dumbfounded. Why the fuck am I here, if alls he's doing is working? Why the fuck do I have my own room, why the fuck is he taking me out to dinner, why the fuck isn't he dragging me down to his fucking cellar and playing with me, why the fuck does he keep fucking touching my fucking hair? Questions, more questions than answers but that's not hard because the only answer I have is none.

I spend most of the day in the entertainment room, watching shit movies on the theatre screen, waiting for him to come get me, to come take me back to his dungeon, but nothing. I see him briefly, once at around lunch time, when he comes, sets a large club sandwich down in front of me and sits by me, eating his own. After he finishes, he strokes my hair once more and leaves me alone for the rest of the day. Around six-thirty, I suppose I should get ready, so I enter my room. There's a pile of black on the crisply white bed linen, I glance briefly but don't really inspect it. The bathroom is just as painfully white; no pattern, no colour anywhere, apart from a little blinking red light. A camera. I sigh and start the shower, before walking back out to the bedroom, a little red light in the corner of the ceiling, pointing down at the bed. He's watching me; I wave to him and strip. He's seen my assets, and I need to shower. I wonder how many other cameras he has in this place. Did he spend all day watching me, watching shitty movies and rambling? I leave the bathroom; a towel wrapped about my waist and examine what he expects me to wear. Leather pants, what the fuck does he think I am? A fucking prostitute from nineteen ninety-four? Skin tight black shirt, and a fucking collar. I stand staring; does he want me to look like I'm cosplaying as the Crow? Is he gonna want me to break out the old eyeliner? I scrub at my face and sigh. This isn't for me, this is for my friends, my family, this is far from the most terrible thing he could do to me. The thong underwear, on the other hand, is close though, riding up my crack and pinching in fucking weird and uncomfortable places, a fucking jock strap would have been better than this piece of fucking shit. The pants aren't much better, they feel like they've been painted on and are apparently designed for a man about 6 inches shorter than me, they ride, embarrassingly low on my hips and of course, the shirt is too short. I look like a fucking idiot. I fucking better get a big old leather trench coat to go with my sexy Crow get up. The collar, I hesitate at the collar. It seems like too much. This is another one of those moments where it feels like a nail in the coffin, knocking on his hotel room door, choking on that dildo all weekend, coming here and now this. This is acknowledging I'm his pet but to save my friends, to save my family, to save my hard work, to save Colt, I am. I tie it around my throat; it feels heavy, so very heavy.

Finally, I go to find him, he's in the living room, sitting on the couch, sipping at a drink. I can feel his eyes on me, assessing, scrutinising, judging. He walks over to me and tugs the strap of the thong higher, tightens the collar around my neck, his fingers grazing the fading bruise he left on me, he steps even closer and his mouth latches back on that spot, no doubt sucking it lividly bruised once more. I clench my hands, forcing myself to remain still as he rebrands me. "Beautiful" He murmurs, stroking the mark once more and trailing his fingers over my exposed collar bone.

The club is quiet, only male couples, one-half of each pair dressed as ridiculously as me, wearing a collar, gazing at their owners with slavishly stupid expressions. Just as he said, no one cares, no one spares us a second glance, well not quite true, I can feel eyes on me, lots of eyes and fuck if it doesn't make my skin crawl. Our table is in the corner, near the back, the area dimly lit and I'm so grateful for that. He orders for both of us and I don't care that he does, I don't care what I eat, I just want this night to be over, I want out of this fucking stupid get up. The food comes and it's surprisingly okay, he doesn't stare at me, just glances at me ever so often, makes absent minded small talk about the food. It surprises me by all being okay. When we finish, he orders desert for us to share, I concede to him feeding me small bites, as alls I want is to leave and get out of these ridiculous clothes. When the food is gone and I think we are about to leave, he pulls my chair closer to his.

"If I told you to get under the table and blow me, would you?" I glance down at the table cloth, it hangs long and low, it would cover me, if I was under the table, but if it was up to me, I wouldn't be there in the first place, so I shake my head. He laughs, stroking my hair again. "We'll get there, I suppose." I'm surprised that he accepted my answer so easily. I'm, once more, unsure what this is all about. He takes my hand and brushes his thumb gently over my knuckles, before moving it down to my crotch. "Touch yourself, I want to watch you." I'm sure my eyes bug out of my head, he wants me to jerk off in public? Sure, no one is looking at us but still, we're in public. He unties the stupidly tight pants and pulls at them, then takes my hand and puts on my still covered cock. "You know the arrangement, Punk. Touch yourself for me." I close my eyes and slip my hand under the fabric of the thong. "Let me see." He says. I take a deep breath and pull dick out from the confining fabric, stroking myself, as I stare down at the table, not looking up at all. "Look at me; I want to see your face." Again, I take a deep breath and raise my head, meeting his eyes. I don't know why, but there is something exciting about this, the illicit danger, how public it all is, I'm hard and into this far more quickly than I'm happy with. I allow my mind to drift as I stroke myself harder, thinking about ex-girlfriends, about random porno I've watched, again that one video Colt sent me comes to my mind, that slender, tattooed man on his knees, his lover's hand in his long bleached out hair, guiding him forward, slowly easing his cock down his throat. ("You can do this, Punkers.") Those words that I've never heard in that context ring in my ears as I come with a low moan. My cum coats my hand and I reach for my napkin, he snatches it from me and shakes his head. "Use that smart little mouth of yours." I wrinkle my nose, I may have tasted myself over the last few days but it doesn't mean I enjoyed it. He doesn't back down though, he holds my wrist and brings my hand to my mouth, I lick it clean quickly. Finally, we leave but I can't help but notice the bulge in his pants when he stands.

When we get back to the house, he pours himself a drink, and me Pepsi, then leads me to the back yard, settling on a chair near the pool.

"Do you swim Punk?" I nod and he gives me a horribly gentle smile as I glance at the large pool. "Go on." He tilts his glass in the direction of the water and I rub the back of my neck, looking around, pensively. I know how private the area is, no one could see and yet, I still feel uncomfortable.

"Is that an order?" If he is letting me decide, then alls I want is to go to bed, I've had it with this fucking day, I want it over and done with.

"Will it make you feel better?" He laughs softly. "Then yes, Punk, it's an order. I'm going to fuck you before you sleep; I'm just trying to loosen you up." I ignore that statement and stand, stripping his stupid clothes from my body and diving into the water. I swim around for a while, feeling his eyes on me the whole time, finally I hear my name and glance over to him. He stands naked, by the hot tub. A very large part of me is considering how easy it would be to drown right now. He motions for me to join him. I get out of the pool and go to the hot tub, sitting on the edge, my legs dangling in, trying to adjust to the warm water after the coolness of the pool. He's already in the tub and moves to settle between my legs, his hands forcing them wider apart, running along my thighs.

"I'm going to prep you." I blink at him in stupid confusion, thrown off by him again. I figured it would be hard and painful like last time. He has me lean back on the cement; I study the stars above me, wondering how I came to this point in my life, trying to spot constellations. He pushes my legs wider and I close my eyes, mentally preparing for the pain of his finger pushing into me. Instead, I'm surprised when something warm and wet starts moving over my asshole, his tongue. I've never had this done to me, never wanted it done but as I lay there, I can't help but enjoying it, the physical sensations of something warm and wet, squirming and lapping at a place, until very recently, I hadn't considered as anything other than serving a mildly disgusting, but thoroughly necessary function. His tongue delves deeper into me, slowly opens my body up, the strange pleasure growing with each thrust and press into me. I feel my cock begin to harden and when he slides a finger into me, I find my body pressing back against it. "Good boy." He murmurs, his breath washing over my asshole, a shiver runs down my spine and my body begins fucking his finger, rocking against it. He doesn't push, allowing my ass to adjust, doesn't add a second finger until I ask him too, and I did ask, grudgingly but I did it. He was pressing against my prostate and I wanted more, I hated that I did but my body wanted it too badly. He keeps this up until my body has over-ridden everything else, I'm panting with painfully honest desire, moaning, and whimpering as three of his fingers fuck my ass. I've lost all modesty and self-respect is following it out the window. I never knew fingers in my ass could feel like this, I've played with my own to get used to it but it wasn't like this, this is so much more, it's almost too much more. He must slides his fingers from my body, and settles back on the other side of the tub, looking at me, as I lie there, panting, my legs splayed, my body aching for something more and mind wanting to run. "C'mere, Punk, ride me." I blink, my mind protesting but my body slipping into the water, straddling his thighs. His hand reaches into the water stroking my erection, and he pulls my face closer, kissing me. I pull back, aching to escape, I can feel his cock against my ass, my body definitely thinks fucking him is a good idea, I can feel something like an aching burn of desire in my ass, but my mind, my mind is a fuzzy mess.

"I, I..." I stumble, words have escaped me and he brushes one finger over my asshole, sliding it inside of me, pressing against my prostate. I lose the fight with my body's desires and I reach back and line him up with my ass, taking a deep breath as I lower myself on his cock. It's hard, he's so big and as hungry for this as my ass feels, he's almost too big for me.

"Easy." He whispers in my ear, another shiver running through me, as he pets my hair again. "Relax, Punk." His cock sinks a few inches into me, before I feel the burn of my body stretching too far around him. I stop and take several breaths, his hand still petting my hair, in that gentle way again and his voice in my ear whispering words of encouragement, his other hand stroking me keeping me hard, despite the pain. He doesn't rush me and it takes several long minutes before I settle down completely, impaled by him even deeper this way. I move slowly, muscles I'm not familiar with protest slightly, yet alls I can focus on is the sweet burst of pleasure his cock is causing my body, as it rubs over my prostate. This pleasure encourages a faster pace, and his hand slides from my cock to my hips, guiding and encouraging but never demanding my body speeds up it's movements, never once does he force me to move faster. This is my show and it's fucking with my head too much, no matter how much my traitorous body is enjoying this, my mind is repelled, repulsed by it. ("You can do this, Punkers.") Those words that I've never heard in that tone, ringing in my ears, as he attacks my nipples and I whimper in unwanted pleasure. My body is so focused, that my mind shuts down and when I come, I'm riding him hard and fast, he follows quickly behind me. His arms wrap around me, keeping me in place, as I fight my instincts to run, to flee, to get the fuck away from him, not that my exhausted body would let me. When he finally lets me go, I stand on shaky legs, wincing as he slides from me. I grab a towel and the pile of clothes, left by the pool, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum as it dribbles from my ass. I hear him behind me and honestly, all I want is to get away. "Punk" I stop and turn towards him, trying not to say something I'll regret. He smiles softly and strokes my hair once more, his hand holds my chin with firm, gentle pressure as he kisses me.

"Good night." My voice is horribly hollow and all he does is nod and let me go.

As soon as I'm in the snowy white bedroom, I shower, scrubbing at my skin and biting back tears of rage, of humiliation, of something I can't place, something I don't want to think about. I have no allies in this, my body enjoys what he can do to it, my mind wants to taint my best friend by focusing on him and I, I just want this to be over. I'm fighting a war on too many fronts and I can't win, there's no victory to be had here, this is a war of attrition, I need to endure, I need to survive. ("You can do this, Punkers.")

I flop on to the bed, once I'm out of the shower, towel forgotten somewhere on the floor, he lets himself in, looks at me with something dark in his eyes.

"I came to say goodnight and to give you another present." I don't want anything from him, I want to be left alone, I want to sleep. He produces another anal plug, this one much closer to his size and some form of ring. I lay there, staring up at him blankly, my mind comfortably empty as he spreads my legs and eases the lubricated plug into me. I hiss as my body stretches to accommodate the width. By the time he is finished I'm hard once more, from it rubbing against my prostate. The ring, he slides around my cock and I wince at the tightness, as he closes it. "Don't remove either of these." It's a warning and I just nod, staring at the ceiling above him. He stands and I close my legs, the fullness painfully uncomfortable. "I like to get up at eight. Your mouth will be my alarm clock." Eight a.m. blowjob? Sounds wonderful, I think bitterly. "If I over sleep, I get pissed and that would not be good for you." He leers and pulls the comforter out from under my body, then up and over me. "I don't think it'll be a problem though, by eight, you'll be begging, quite literally begging." He leers at me and brushes a soft kiss over my temple. I lay staring at the ceiling, wishing for something to look at other than blank white and the little red light. I don't know how long I lay there, but eventually, the plug comes to life, vibrating, rubbing vigorously against my prostate, the cock ring keeping me hard. Tonight is going to be hell. For hours, the vibrations change from fast to slow and back again, never in a pattern, just randomly. He is, both literally and figuratively, playing with me and it makes me hate him just that little more.

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	5. Picta Tabella

The night was hell. The plug inside of me buzzing and pulsing against my prostate, the ring keeping my blood trapped in my cock, my body came, it came several times and I lay there staring at the starkly white ceiling, wishing for something other blank whiteness to look at.

I stand outside his door for far too long, hesitating. I have no idea of what the actual time is right now, there's no clock in my snow white room. His cell phone, the only other way I could tell the time, is somewhere, I'm not exactly sure where though, I'm going to have to find it soon. My body is burning with something like desire; it wants what it had last night. As I lay in that bed with nothing to look at, the memory of him moving inside of my body came to me. My traitorous body welcomed my defector mind's allegiance, the two conspiring to envisage, with brutal clarity, his cock moving in me once more. I'm beginning to get used to feeling like I want to run when presented with doors. I don't want to enter his room, don't want to deal with having him in my mouth, a fake cock is one thing but to willingly do this, to walk into his room and give him his wake up call, I'm not sure I can. Yet there is something in me, some need that is calling out to be fulfilled, so I push open the door and enter quietly.

His room is dark; everything in my cell is white or bleached out, his room though, it's all deep, rich red fabric and dark wood. Heavy drapes to blot out the light, the drapes in the room he's put me in are something diaphanous that dances in the slightest breeze, that seem to make every drip of light brighter. The carpet under my feet is thick and soft, the floorboards in the room I'm in are exposed and stripped bare.

The lamp on the nightstand is on, a pair of reading glasses on his nose and his gaze heavy on me. I swallow and glance at the clock, still a few minutes early, he's been waiting for me. I approach the bed slowly, each step reminding me of the plug vibrating in my ass, sweat trickles down my chest, I'm sure I look slightly manic, my body feels half-crazed in its desire to come once more.

"Sun Tzu?" I ask, feeling hopelessly stupid for mentioning his book, stalling for no real reason other than to try and get something of myself together. He raises an eyebrow and looks at me. "It's an interesting book. I, uh, the copy I have has annotations." My words are painfully soft and quiet.

"Oh?" He sounds slightly confused and I nod, ignoring the soft vibrations in my ass and the pain in my cock, talking about literature is a good distraction, I feel more focused than I have all night.

"Cao Cao and Oda Nobunaga. It's kind of funny; Cao Cao's makes all of these little points..." The vibrations increase and I groan, in his hand is a little remote control and on his lips is a big smirk.

"You were saying?" He says, bored, still watching me over his glasses.

"Little points and interesting asides." More vibrations and another groan. "And all Nobunaga writes is yup, Cao Cao's right." I manage something like a laugh, as the vibrations increase as hard as they ever got throughout the night.

"You surprise me Punk; I never had you down as a reader." He sneers the word, his gaze is more of a leer than anything I've seen so far this weekend. He pulls back the blankets, exposing his hard cock. It looks so fucking huge that I wonder how it fits in my ass, but it does, I know it does and now he wants me to fit it in my mouth, which seems even more impossible. I stand beside his bed, waiting, not sure how he wants me to do this. Obviously, he doesn't need me to wake him up; hell, he's up already. I need him to tell me how he wants me, because I am not deciding. Last night, letting my traitor body ride his cock that was enough participating for the whole weekend, even if it's screaming for me to straddle him and ride that cock again, taking the pleasure from it that it knows it can.

"This room, it's nice. Different to the one I'm in." I know it's stupid but conversation let me get a handle on my body once, I am hoping it will again. He smiles softly and wraps his hand around my penis, stroking ever so gently. A choked whimper escapes me and my body is bucking into his hand.

"I like the contrast." He says, watching me, his eyes focused on my own.

"Contrast with what?" I grind out, forcing myself to stay still.

"You, Punk. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, all so vibrant against a blank white canvas." I swallow as he strokes me gently, his thumb brushing over my tip. "What's your favourite colour, Punk?" I shake my head, trying to focus.

"Red." I mutter, wishing he would either stop touching me or do more, something that gets this fucking over with.

"I'll give you a choice." He states, squeezing my cock harder. He puts his book and glasses on the nightstand and presses the button on the remote again. The vibrations stop and I whimper, my body pressing into his hand again, standing there, fucking his hand. Shame and self-respect do so love to leave me in the lurch.

"Choice?" I murmur, hating the pathetic need in my voice.

"You can choose to get between my legs and let me fuck that smart mouth of yours, or." He trails off, releases my dick and reaches above his head. For the first time I notice the cuffs built into the bed. "Or you can lie down and let me to play with you." He leers and strokes my cock once more. "Let me play and this." He taps on the plug. "Comes out and that comes off. Blow me, and you spend the day as you spent the night. It's your choice." I run my hands over my face, I hate these choices that aren't choices, that he keeps presenting me with, but I've had, as much of his presents as I can take, I need rid of them, a choice that's no choice at all. I look at him with what I hope is hate, but the leering smirk on his face would suggest that I failed.

"I agree to play." I hate this word, play. This isn't playing, this is my life, this is my friends' lives, my family's dreams that he's treating as nothing more than pawns in his game. This isn't a game; this isn't playing, not to me. "What do you want me to do?" He smiles and guides me to sit on the edge of his bed, his arms around my waist, pulling me so that I'm pressed against his side. I have a brief thought back to being tucked under Colt's arm in my apartment, there I felt safe, there was a haven. My best friend would keep the wolves from my door but here. Here I'm cradled to the wolf's bosom. His fingers stroking through my hair, as my hips rut against him, my body still seeking release.

"If you agree, then you deal with what I choose to do, I won't stop." The hand caressing of my hair slides down to my shoulder. "The rest of the day will be yours, I'll leave you alone." His fingers trace down to my bicep, the if you refuse you'll not have a moment's peace is unsaid but understood. "Tonight, a friend of mine invited us to dinner." I tense, and his fingers circle my elbow. "Don't worry, all very secretive, nothing to panic about. He's a member of the club, who noticed you last night." I feel painfully sick; almost sick enough for the release my body craves to be forgotten. I saw how men stared at me last night, how they leered, like I was Evian and they were in a desert. I want nothing to do with that again. "Relax, he can't touch you. Just dinner with him and his pet. I don't share, I already told that, Punk. Now decide." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, shifting so I'm lying on my back; I raise my hands above my head. My body needs release and I'm going to need the day to get ready for the night. A choice that's no choice at all. ("You can do this, Punkers.")

The cuffs that wrap around my wrists are soft, the supple leather lined with something fluffy and pleasant, but he tightens them uncomfortably. I put it out of my mind as best I can and stare at his ceiling. It's covered in some kind of painting, something delicate and familiar. He pulls my body down the bed, my arms stretched out painfully above me.

"Spread your legs." I obey, this was my decision, allowing him to restrain me, it was my own choice. He chuckles as his fingers run along my calf. "You can do better than that; I know you're flexible, wide as you can." I spread my legs further and wince as more cuffs are wrapped around my ankles, pulling my legs wider then I'm comfortable with. He gets off the bed and stands beside me, I can see him out of the corner of my eye, as I stare up at the ceiling, trying to place the picture. "Beautiful." He murmurs and pulls the plug from my ass. I take several deep breaths; my ass feels empty without it inside. "I can't decide." He says, that painfully bored tone in his voice. "I don't normally have this problem but I want to do so many things to you." His hand hovers over my cheek and he strokes my hair carefully from where it's clinging in the sweat on my face. "This weekend, though, all I want, is to show you how much pleasure you can get from being with a man, pleasure from letting me play with you as I would like." His hand strokes down my chest. "We'll keep this simple." He sets a small black box on the bed beside me. I can't help turning my head to look at it. A small, nondescript black box and this is simple? His words are confusing, I agreed to let him do anything to me, and instead he's going for simple. He strokes my cock a few times and I watch as he opens a bottle of lube. "Have you ever heard of sounding, Punk?" I've dated some interesting women in my time. Shannon was a wild girl, I've endured being sounded before, the nerd in me laughed at the name of the manufacturer of her set, Van Buren. The one time I let her use them on me, left me feeling like I'd been blow by a Deathclaw, so it never happened again, until now that is. I'm sure I look terrified because he's smiling softly at me and stroking my hair again, making some kind of soft shushing noise. He takes a little alcohol wipe from the drawer and runs it over the head of my cock, my breathing speeding up as I prepare for the pain, I know is coming. He opens the little box and inside are his sounds, silicone, the shade of red on my city's flag. "I guessed." He smiles softly at me and opens another wipe, cleaning one of the sounds and sets it somewhere out of my line of sight. He takes a large syringe from the drawer and fills it with lube, then cleans the nozzle with another wipe. The feeling of lube being forced down my cock is weird, it stings and I hated the feeling then and I hate it now. He pulls on a pair of surgical gloves and lubes the sound, lining it up and letting it sink into my cock. The silicone feels different to the cool metal that Shannon used, warmer, softer, silky almost. "Relax." He says softly, his eyes heavy on me. I close my own, then open them, solely to look at the ceiling. The Sistine Chapel, it comes to me as he does something to my cock and I feel the sound slide even deep into my body, my leg twitches in response. "Relax." His voice snaps and I stare up at the reproduction of Michelangelo's finest work on his bedroom ceiling. I don't know much about art, I read a book once, watched a few documentaries; I don't think this is full ceiling in his bedroom, just a few panels, but it is beautiful. Suddenly, my cock is filled with the most bizarre sensation. His fucking sound vibrates. "You seem to enjoy vibration so." He laughs softly and begins fucking my cock with his vibrating sound. It feels strange, painfully, horribly strange, and my body doesn't enjoy it as much as he thinks it should. He occasionally strokes my dick with his free hand, and I moan. It's painful with the stroking but that seems to please him. When he stops, I find myself looking down at the sound protruding from my dick. "You should get a piercing here." I ignore the statement and return to his ceiling. He holds the sound in me for what feels like hours, the vibrations stimulating my prostate and balls, his hand moving over my shaft, slow and careful, my body aching for its release.

"Just fuck me." My mouth is getting away from me; my body is so desperate to come that it'll beg him. His smile widens, condescending and arrogant.

"Was that so hard? Asking for what you want?" I glance at him quickly and sigh in relief as the sound leaves my body. He sits by my head, turning it so that his dick is lined up with my mouth. I have no choice but to look at him, his body blocks my view of the ceiling. "I wanna see how much you practiced. Show me how deep you can take it." His thumb rubs over my lips. "These were made to wrap around a cock." My tongue runs over my lips and I slowly part them, he pushes into my mouth. I close my eyes and try think of anything else, ("You can do this, Punkers" Strong hands, tangled in bleached blond hair, easing a cock down a tight throat, slow and soft and gentle.) It seems my mind is bound and determined to ensure, that I am never able to look my best friend in the eye again. He sinks in slowly, and I force myself to relax, to breathe through my nose, his taste filling my mouth. He hits the back of my throat and I try not to gag, I almost succeed, almost but not quite. He ignores this and continues his descent, and finally I cannot take anymore. I try to pull back but he holds my head, firmly but gently in place. "It's okay, you can take this. Good boy." He murmurs, holding my wide panicked gaze, I feel like I'm going to choke to death on his cock. "Good boy, just a little more." I close my eyes tightly, I have no clue how much more a little more is, but I'm shocked when I feel his balls on my chin. He moans low and rumbling, as he begins to slide in and out of my mouth, never far enough out to prevent me from feeling like I'm choking. My fingers grip the metal chain attached to the cuffs and I try harder and harder to pull back. Eventually, he pulls from my throat, I cough as he leaves my mouth, my eyes watering, blinking rapidly, the stupid desire to rub my throat being thwarted by the cuffs around my wrists.

"How'd you like to be fucked?" He asks softly, pouring lube into his hand and easing several fingers into me, slicking my ass once more. "Would you like to ride me again?" I shudder, I don't ever want to ride him again, my body on the other hand, is more than interested in that idea, my eyes drawn to his cock as he coats it in lube. "Or should I leave you like this, take you on your back again?" Another shudder, my mind dragging up the pain of my consensual rape. "Or maybe flip you over, take you on your hands and knees, or something gentler, should I lay you on your side and take you like a lover." I cringe at his words, another choice that isn't a choice at all.

"I don't care, just do what you want." I mutter, he laughs softly and undoes the cuffs on my ankles. I stretch my aching legs and he climbs between them. He lifts them up, putting them on his shoulders and leans over me, bending me in half. His mouth latches onto mine, and I have no escape, no choice, as his tongue slides into my mouth, his dick enters my ass. I can't help the groan, the treachery of my body as he rocks into me; it's far too slow, so brutally slow, his thrusts gentle and soft, I whimper against his lips.

"You want me to go faster?" He asks, his hands in my hair. "Kiss me back." It's a simple demand, really, considering everything he's done to my body so far, but kissing him back, it seems so intimate. Yet my body wins over me again, my lips return his kiss eagerly, and the more involved the kiss is, the harder he fucks me. It gets very involved. I can feel an orgasm building and I pull away from his mouth.

"You said ,you'd take it off." He smiles and leans down, latching onto my neck, ignoring me. I can feel tears of frustration burning in the corner of my eyes, but there is no way he's getting that from me. His words from the hotel room, his asking for my tears, he's not getting that. He can wound me but he can't break me. He will never break me. He strokes my hair again in that awful, horrible, gentle way and a choked almost sob escapes me.

"Sir. When we're together, call me sir." I shake my head and he sighs, his hand tightens in my hair raising my head up off the bed awkwardly, his nose pressed against mine. "Your choice, Punk." He lets his statement hang in the air. My choice, what does he mean by that? What's my choice, is this another choice that isn't a choice? He increases the speed of his thrusts, rubbing over my prostate and my mind escapes me again.

"Sir, you said, you'd take it off." The tightness of the cock ring is gone and then I'm lost, the pleasure my traitor body feels, tears through me, it's so intense, that by the time I'm in control once more, he's sitting beside me smirking, his cum dripping from my ass and his hand moving through my hair.

"Back with me?" He sounds amused and runs his fingers through the cum splashed on my stomach, he raises fingers to my lips and I don't have the strength to fight him, I lick them clean, each time he raises them to my mouth. He releases my wrists from their restraints, rubbing at the reddened skin, pressing painfully gentle kisses on the welts. "I'm showering. Join me, leave, do as you will." He steps away from the bed, watching me as I watch him. I feel sick, horribly sick. I'll not be joining him in his shower, I'll be hoping he slips and drowns. "Your clothes for this evening will be picked out for you, be ready for seven." I manage a nod and he enters his bathroom. I plan to spend the day in the pristine white one, scrubbing him off of me.

I don't see him all day; I spend it lying on my back on the lawn at the front of the house, staring up at the clouds, trying to see pictures. I think briefly, stupidly, of calling Colt. I want to hear a friendly voice, I want him to give some bravado, there's no small victories to be had here, the ice white bathroom doesn't fog up like cheap hotel ones, I need something. But, the only phone I have access to is his and every time I think of Colt, I hear his voice, rough with the same desire as the porn star, ("You can do this, Punkers.") My mind conspires against me in the cruellest of ways, because I am not certain I can do this in the least. I abandon my clouds and thoughts at around five, checking the clothes first this time; if he thinks I'll concede to dressing like Sexy Sting again, he can fucking forget it. Thankfully, it more tasteful, tight looking slacks in ink black, and a button down shirt, the same deep dark red as his drapes. The thong is Chicago red and I wonder if I can petition for different underwear, really what's wrong with boxers?

I shower and dress, leaving my hair down, he seems to have a strange thing for stroking it, and I get the feeling he'd only take it down if I tied it up. He adjusts my clothing when I arrive in the living room, undoing a few buttons on the shirt, he ties the collar back around my throat and tucks my hair behind my ears.

"You prefer this?" He asks, gesturing to the clothes, and I nod slightly, at least I don't look like a streetwalker. It could be a normal outfit, if only the collar wasn't there. He laughs softly. "I like you in leather, Punk." He steps away from me. "Tonight, there are rules you're to follow." Inside, a little part of me cringes in fear and trepidation. "Keep your head down, no eye contact. Only speak when spoken too and always answer with Sir. I want no signs of disobedience." He's showing me off for his kinky fucking friends, wants to show them the new model, I wonder if Hardy put up with shit, if he enjoyed it. "Do you understand?" I nod, I understand. "Punk." He says coldly.

"I understand." His eyes narrow. "Sir." I grind out and am grateful that I'm supposed to be staring at the floor tonight, if I looked at him then, I'm sure I'd be up on murder charges.

"Good boy." His hand moves through my hair once more and I consider shaving my head.

Dinner is uneventful. I follow every command, eat what's placed in front of me and try to not cringe every time he touches me. The friend and his boyfriend/pet/whatever seem so fucking happy that I'm almost jealous, for some people this shit works. The pet smiling demurely and leaning into the occasional gentle touches it get. They talk about me as though I wasn't there, and honestly, that feels more like kindness than humiliation, I wish I wasn't. I eat quietly and stare at that the subtle embroidery on the tablecloth, white fabric with white figures stitched into, the pattern from some ancient Greek vase, men in various lewdly sexual positions.

"You haven't played with him yet?" The friend says. "Look at me, boy." I raise my eyes and look at him, a lazy leer spreading over his face. "Pretty thing, though I think the old one was better." He laughs and drinks from his wine glass, I look back down at the tablecloth, my hands clenching into fists as they rest on my thighs. "We'll put on a little show for you, show him what he's in for." He laughs and stands, leading us to his own kinky sex dungeon, which turns out to be a large room on the upper floor. I take a step back as we enter, it's very similar to the basement, but worse, everything in this room looks like it's designed to cause pain, nothing screams pleasure like the things in his basement does. He leads me over to a chair and sits, pulling me onto his lap. "Don't worry no one but me will touch you. Just watch and don't look away. Remember, this is for your benefit." I force myself to sit there, to watch everything, to see every moment of the next few hours, but I wish I hadn't. When it's over, I manage to grind out a thank you for the host as we leave.

We return to the house and I follow him out to the pool area. I sit on a char, shaking slightly. How could anyone want that, how could anyone enjoy that but the pet did, begged for it even, he loved every fucking second. My mind is reeling, confusion reigning supreme. He sits down and sets a glass of Pepsi on the table near me.

"I'm not that extreme in my play." He says, and I glance at him, but he's staring up at the stars.

"Ursa Major." I mutter, pointing at the constellation he's looking at, his hand runs up my arm and pulls mine down, cradling it gently, stroking my knuckles a few times, before letting me take it back.

"If you wanted it, I could be." He smiles as I gawp at him, my mouth hanging open, there is no way in hell I want that. The pet, his back was a Monet, his bruises strange and beautiful and so very painful looking. "I let you watch to show you the cruelty of others. I'm hoping you appreciate me a little more now." I nod slightly; he's not as cruel as he could be, maybe not as cruel as he wants to be. This whole weekend has been about my choices, this whole thing has been about my choices from the start. Choices that aren't choices at all, good or bad, the things I've decided to do, be it for selfless or selfish reasons. "What's that one?" He points at another group of stars.

"Orion." I say softly, the great hunter, the swordsman in the sky, I always hated Tolkien, I can't help but think. I see him nod out of the corner of my eye and I turn away from the stars, picking up my Pepsi and sipping at it. He sits, quietly sipping his drink and occasionally asking me which constellation he's looking at, it's strange, terrifying almost, but not in the same way as what I witnessed earlier in the night. Watching that man get taken, getting abused, I'm scared to admit, but as I watched, my body was interested, his moans, his pleas, his panted thank you sir after each blow was landed, after each thrust into him, it turned me on. I don't know why, I don't know what this says about me. Am I really here because I had no choice? Am I here because I have to be to save every person and thing I hold dear or am I here because there is some sick part of me that wants this, some sick little bit of me that wants to be tied up and beat down and fucked till my legs shake and my mind goes blank?

"I'm going to bed, Punk." He stands and collects the empty glasses. "It's been a long day." I stand and he walks into the kitchen, setting the glasses in the dishwasher. He comes over to me as I hover near the door back outside and unbuckles the collar. "I've to leave in the morning, business, but you can stay till Monday." He strokes my hair gently and walks to the other door. "I've had fun but I'm tired, I won't be bothering you tonight. I made a phone call to Creative; you'll be in the ladder match at Mania." My reward for the weekend I guess and I get to leave a day early. I can go home for a day, hide from everyone and not think about this shit. "Good night, Punk." He leaves and I go back out to the poolside, sitting on my chair, hugging my knees to my chest, my mind refusing to rest, my body trembling once more. Images flit through my mind, a heavy whip against an already bruised back, hands clenching and unclenching on heavy chains, strong hands sliding through bleached out hair, deep, deep green eyes looking up in love and devotion, a floral bedspread decorated with nightmarish screaming faces. All the while, ("You can do this, Punkers.") in that tone I've never heard from Colt, ringing in my ears. I can't take this, I need something, I need someone to hold me together before I shake myself apart.

I end up stripping naked and crawling under the covers, his arms are around me before I can even think if this is a good idea or not.

"I wasn't expecting you." He says softly, his breath is warm over the back of my neck.

"I... I..." My voice is as shaky as my body.

"Shh, shh, its okay, you're okay." He strokes the parts of my skin he can reach, pulling me tight against him. "I've got you, pet." I'm surprised when I don't tense up at the name, when his rhythmic stroking and warm breath, brings me some crumb of comfort. We lie in silence for a long time, his hands moving over my skin and my body trembling. "You'll be leaving in the morning?" It sounds like a question but I think there's no doubt in his mind that as soon as I am able, I'll be leaving this place. "The car'll pick you up at nine; your flight home is at ten-fifty. I told you not to pack." He chuckles softly. He had this planned? He'd never intended to play with my body, only my mind. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep, eventually drifting off to the feeling of him kissing my hair softly and ("You can do this, Punkers") in my ears.

* * *

**Thank you everyone for reading! Lamentomori and I would like to request your reviews, both of us are eager to hear from each and everyone of you!**

**littleone1839- The outfit was awful, but I still wonder how Punk would look in it lol. I hope the second part of the weekend lived up to expectations, the niceness of Vince is throwing Punk off, and Colt well he is just confusing the poor guy!**

**Rebellecherry- Punk in leather I have a feeling could be very hot! Though I think Punk would chose different leather outfits then the stuff Vince wants. I'm not sure Vince wants the boyfriend experience, he could but I'm not sure ask lamentomori lol. I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoyed the chapter!**

**BrokenSpell77- I loved last chapter also, lamentomori claims she didn't do much, but she did a lot to make it so damn perfect. I never wrote Punk's POV until Lamentomori told me i should and now I can not stop writing in first person lol. I do think it adds a lot to this story, the need to show Punk's thoughts and confuse are a huge piece of how it works. We like rambling, we both ramble so feel free to leave as many rambling reviews as you like! Thank you for your review and your kind words.**

Okay again reviews people, I swear I'm going to make Lamentomori write a poem for the end here just to see how many people actually read this far!


	6. Dominica Confessiones

I awake up alone in the snow white room, the silence in the house almost overwhelming. On the pillow beside me is my cell phone. It's Eight a.m. the car coming to take me to the airport will be here in an hour, if he wasn't lying to me. I get out of bed and shower, my body aching slightly as I dress quickly and leave the room. I skip breakfast and wait at the gate for the car, playing with my phone. I toy with the idea of letting Colt know I'm okay early, I said I'd tell him when I could but, I need some time to myself, I need to think.

When the plane lands in Chicago, I get a cab home, back to my own space, back to where I am safe, where I can regroup and reassess the situation. I feel disconnected from myself, I am not a person who thinks the way I was over those two days. There is no separate entity of _me_. I am me, from every facet of my personality to the moles on my cheek, every bit is me and yet, all weekend I couldn't reconcile what I was feeling. The physical sensations I was experiencing were disconnected from what my conscious self wanted, my sub-conscious self was even after something else. There is part of _me_ that enjoyed what was happening, and that part is as much a part of me, as the parts that were repulsed and humiliated by it. Reconciling these parts with one another, that's what I need to do today, I need to reform myself. Only sitting on my couch thinking isn't helping, my thoughts are circular, spinning round and around like a Catherine Wheel. I can't take much more, so I go for a run, pound the streets of my city, trying to lose myself in the steady beat.

_What happened to you?_

_You're not the same._

_Something in your head,_

_Made a violent change._

It's not easy when even music conspires against me. My thoughts spiral and after almost being run over for the third time, I go back home. I need to evaluate what's happened to me, something has changed, and I'm not the same. Over those two days in that house, something happened to me, something awful and terrible, something that needs processing. I need to sit and very carefully come to terms with it, because it's going to keep happening, and I can't keep having these stupid little breakdowns every time it does.

I've lived my entire life believing I'm completely straight, I still do. I'm in no way attracted to men. Yet, physically, he is capable of giving me undeniable pleasure, and excruciating pain too. Yet it was pleasure that was the point of this weekend, it was pleasure he gave. The first time he fucked me that was all pain, brutal and horrid. The second fuck was horrid too but in a totally different way, I enjoyed it, the physical side at least, mentally I _loathed_ it, the third time was more of the same. For a straight man, I'm racking up some impressive being fucked in the ass stats. This is the first major hurdle I need to cross; does, physically at least, enjoying being fucked make me any less straight? Honestly, I don't know, I don't think it does, it can't, it's a natural reaction to physical stimuli. It's understandable, the body reacts to what happens to it, I react to what happens to me. How I react physically doesn't change who I am, it can't, natural reaction and all that. It's reasonable that if someone jacks your cock, you enjoy it, it means nothing. Attraction and sexual release are two different things, and until he puts his hands on me again, and everything goes to shit once more, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

If it only it was solely the things he did to me that turned me on, this would be so much easier. Watching that _pet_ being played with was, I don't quite know what it was, but it aroused me, yet at the same time, it terrified me. I never want to be in that position. I never want to feel the lash of a whip, I never want to beaten black and blue like that. The screams, and pain, they weren't what interested me. It was the tender strokes, the careful touches, the gentle way each hurt was soothed when the _pet_ needed it. It was the sight of two people being so in tune and so in sync with each other, that there didn't need to be verbal communication, as soon as one had a need, the other fulfilled it. I've never seen a connection like that, I've never thought that it could exist and I coveted it, I coveted being so completely _cared_ for, I coveted having someone so deeply connected to me that they can meet my needs without me having to explain them. Yet, as much as the idea turns me on, as much as I want it, it scares me. I'm me, I'm my own person, I want my independence, I just want a refuge too. I want somewhere I can hide till I'm ready to face the World. I've never had that, not really, and now that I've seen someone else with it, I want it for myself, only, I'll never want it from him, _never _from Vince.

Vince, it occurs to me then that this is the first time I've even thought his name all weekend. Just how entrenched outside of myself, was I? How focused on not being there was I, that I let myself hide from the fact that this is my boss fucking me. The man who dangles the most precious things to me in the World in the balance, is my boss Vince McMahon. What's his angle? He had carte blanche to do as he pleased all weekend, and what did he do? He fucked me a couple of times and stuck a rod down my cock, hardly the perverse orgy of pain and sodomy, I was expecting. I got was my own room, my own space, my own time, I was called for when needed, and the rest of the time sent away. I wasn't treated with overt cruelty, and I think, because of this, I have some leverage in this _agreement_, I'm not sure how much, but I have some. I understand my body a little better, I know a little of what I like physically, even if there is a part of me that hates it, there is that part that knows what I like, and I can use that. Colt's words telling me to find what I like, what I don't and to use it to my advantage, come back to me then. It feels like an age since he said those things to me, and yet it's only been just over a week, it feels so much longer but really, it's not even quite two weeks. Nearly two weeks ago, my asshole was exit only, I can't quite contain the laughter bubbling up my throat. There is so much of this that is ludicrous, so fucking ridiculous that if I was being told this, instead of living it, I'd laugh, it's unbelievable. But this isn't someone else's life, this is mine, my life, my body, and I've learnt more about it, about me, there's no it, it's all me. I'm not letting myself compartmentalise again, it's not helpful, not matter how hard it is, I need to come to terms with what is happening, I've two years of this to live through. I refuse to be some kind of gibbering wreck at the end of it. I survived two whole days with him, it was survival but I did it. I have my small victory. He fired the first volley and I weathered it, they might've been test shots, but I survived: wounded, but not broken, never broken.

_("You can do this, Punkers.") _My second problem, right there: Colt. My best friend, a man who's voice echoed in the back of my mind all weekend. A man who I love. I've no problem admitting I love him, he's my closest confidante, my closest ally, my best friend but the love I have for him is purely philia, storge even, but certainly not eros. Love is complicated, I'm not in love with Colt, he's my friend, but it's entirely natural to me to love him, it takes no thought to be there when he needs me, and when I need someone, he's who I turn to, but I don't want to have sex with him, that attraction, it just isn't there. His voice drifts through my mind because I need some form of comfort or encouragement, and he comes to me when I need him to. That is the only answer I have. His porn collection though, that's a different problem. That one video, of a man, bleached blond and covered in ink. The more I think on it, the more I think he looks like me, or at least how I used to look. I have to accept that Colt has some kind of attraction to me, and that relying on him too much could cloud the relationship between us, and I don't want that. I need for him to be something of a refuge to me. It's selfish, I know but I've never once made any claims to be anything but, I didn't enter into this agreement with Vince for selfless reasons, not really, my motivation is entirely selfish. I couldn't handle being the reason everything I love was gone, I couldn't handle everyone I love being unemployed because of me, I couldn't handle being the reason Colt lost his dream. I'm a selfish man, and this is as much reasoning and thinking, as I can handle for one day.

My cell goes off and it being my own, personal, cell surprises me more than it should.

_The fuck have you done to Cabana? He's sulking, we all know that idiot only sulks over you. Call him, you little shit! - Ace_

It amuses me that most everyone thinks Colt only sulks or gets upset over me, that's far from the truth. It's just the Colt, he presents to the World is so happy, so carefree, damn goofy almost. But I see him, all of him, the other side, the one he hides, the insecurities, the concerns, the worry, and fuck does he _worry_, over every little thing, thinking and thinking and over-thinking some more for good measure. I get told the problems, get the confessions, he came out to me first, dragged me along to tell his parents, sat nervously on this very couch agonising over how to tell them. I see the real Colt, I see Scott Colton, not the construct that's presented to the World, the same way he sees Phil Brooks, not the carefully guarded and constructed CM Punk.

_I'll call him tomorrow. I just got back. - sent_

_He said you were gone all weekend. What happened? - Ace_

_Plans changed. - sent_

_Good, we're having a few beers at my place tonight. Be there, fix whatever it is you did. - Ace_

There is no arguing with Ace, so I send another message asking the time and confirming my attendance, well more conceding to my summons, really, but it's mostly the same thing.

I arrive early by design, the intention entirely to establish a good hiding spot. This is an exercise in normalcy, but I don't want to be the life and soul of the party, I want to be the quiet observer in the corner. My resolve feels tenuous, I know Colt would never tell another soul and yet at first he had suggested mentioned my situation to Ace, so there is a little knot of worry in the back of mind, but there's no indication that anyone knows anything is amiss.

"Who's that?" It's not that I'm overly interested, but I like know who exactly Colt is hitting on and being rejected by, the guy is broad, muscular, caramel skin, buzzed hair and absolutely everything I'm not. It makes me wonder why Colt watches porn of men that bear a passing resemblance to me, yet _always _hits on my polar opposite. Ace shrugs and D chimes in.

"Ma cousin. Your boy ain't gonna get some, don't think he's doin' all tha' hot. You gonna havva bail his ass, fore it get's burnt, Punker." I find myself shrugging, being shot down is nothing new for Colt, maybe he should try the skinny looking guy in the corner, who keeps staring at him.

I play at being normal, falling into the role easily, finding the hottest girl in the room and talking myself into being the only man she's capable of seeing. It's reassuring that being fucked hasn't somehow marked me, hasn't affected my ability to captivate women. Her eyes are deep, dark chocolate brown, her smile infectious, and both haven't waivered since I've been talking with her. Over the course of the night, her flirtations go from subtle to overt, and I'm almost at the point of returning them, when someone slaps my ass.

"Punkers!" A drunken Colt drapes himself over me and the hot girl is forgotten in favour of keeping my drunk best friend on his feet. I catch his eyes and realise that he's sober, his breath free from the stench of alcohol. _McMahon_ he mouths and the rules of the agreement burn brightly in my mind. I'm a serial monogamist, I've just left one relationship and I know me, I'll be looking to leap casually into another but the rules, I'm at McMahon's beck and call, no outside interference. I throw Colt's arm over my shoulder and wrap one of own around his waist, playing the part of the good Samaritan helping his drunken buddy home. I make excuses to everyone, and escort Colt out of the building.

"Thanks." I mutter as soon as we're outside, he laughs and shakes his head, but doesn't say anything. We start walking, aimless heading in the direction of our apartments. For several blocks, it's the same way, but eventually, our paths should split; only he comes with me, following me home. "I'm fine." I tell him and he shakes his head again, still not saying anything, walking beside me, his footsteps steady and measured. When we enter my place, he switches on the light and drags me under it, studying me carefully, his eyes narrowed, hands clutching my shoulders, holding me out at arm's length. He stares far past me being comfortable with it and then suddenly he pulls me close, wraps his arms around me tightly and buries his face against my neck.

"Was so fucking worried, so fucking scared, Punkers. Fuck, fuck. Don't do that to me again, I can't take it." He mutters softly and I stand there, my feelings changing by the second, happy, annoyed, relieved, amused, concerned, everything's a jumble. I manage to move my arms to wrap around him, hugging him back, a hug that feels more like an embrace. We stand like this for a long time, no words, no movement, just him holding me and me holding him. Philia in its most simple form, it's not a kind of love that is natural, it's not a kind of love that animals experience, it's peculiar to humans. We find that one person and decide that we like them, that we're keeping them, that they're our friend, and you support each other, you rely on each other, you be each other's friend. He holds me out at arm's length once more, eyes narrowed and slightly glazed with unshed tears. "You okay?" I nod, I get the feeling my own might be similarly glassy, so I scrub at them with the back of my hand. "Punkers, he hurt you? You're not limping this time, was it okay?" I nod again and he shakes me a little, a gentle rock, trying to prompt some kind of real answer from me.

"I'm okay, Colt, I'm okay." I sound annoyingly wispy, so I clear my throat. "It wasn't as bad as I thought, it was _okay_."

"Okay?" He prompts, hands tightening on my shoulders slightly, and I nod. "Why you back early?" At this, I shrug.

"Business, so he said, anyways." This time its Colt who nods and I step away from him, out of his grasp, his hands were getting almost painfully tight on my shoulders. "Maybe he got bored of me." I laugh and kick my shoes off; Colt shakes his head once more and comes over to the door, leaning against the wall near it.

"You are fucking dull, Punkers." He says, with a wry grin on his face. He catches my wrist as I walk past him. "You look like you're gonna fall over, go to bed." I yawn, now that he mentions it, I feel exhausted.

"Sleep over?" I ask him. I'm a selfish man, I know he wants me, but I'm selfish and need refuge. Decisions and rationalisations made in the light of day are one thing but asleep, my subconscious is a tricksy fucker, it likes to undo my hard work more often than not. Nightmares and insomnia, aren't I just the luckiest fucker on the Planet. He laughs and nods, kicking off his sneakers and following me to the bathroom, stealing my toothbrush once I finish with it. We settle in bed, me on one side, Colt on the other. He laughs suddenly and pulls me over to him.

"Go to sleep, Punkers." He mutters, stroking my hair and I freeze, the memory Vince's fingers running through the same lank, dyed black mess comes over me.

"Don't, just don't touch my hair." I really wish I had a better handle on my voice sometimes, it sounds far too freaked out, far too often. Colt's hand immediately moves to my shoulder, squeezing softly.

"Hey, hey, Punkers, stop shaking, please. It's me, it's Colt. Please. You're safe, you're with me." I try to make my breathing slow down, try to focus on Colt's hand as it' runs up and down my back, his voice, panicked and soothing. I'm safe, I'm with Colt, the words repeat steadily in my mind, a constant refrain until I've calmed down, the shaking stops, but he keeps stroking my back. "Fuck, you okay?"

"I... Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Just, don't touch my hair. He, _Vince_, does that." I lift my head to look at him and he nods, his lips pressed into a thin line, a look in his eyes I've never seen on Colt before, something dark and dangerous, brimming with barely restrained rage, he looks ready to kill, to kill for me.

"G'night." He says softly and I return the sentiment, feeling him wrap me up in his arms and fall asleep easily.

I'm not sure how long I sleep for but I'm woken up the sound of Colt's voice, soft and soft, rumbling and rough.

"You're unfair, you know that, Punkers." I consider answering him but the way he sounds, talking so quietly, it's like he thinks I'm still asleep. "I've told you a thousand times how much I wanted you, and now someone else has you. It's different when it was women, so fucking different." He sounds painfully bitter. "Knowing that fucking fuck McMahon is the first to touch you, the first to take you. I don't care how much you think you hate him, you'll never hate him more than me." His tone is dark, fury and hatred burn in it. "All weekend, I thought of nothing but what he could be doing to you and how fucking useless to you, I was." He snorts. "You know, there was always a part of me that hoped one day, you'd give in to me, that you'd get bored of changing girlfriends like they were socks and realise that you're in love with me." Philia, Colt, not eros, I want to tell him, the love of a friend, not of a lover. "I love you, and you know what the worst thing is? You fucking know that, you know it and you still do this shit to me." He laughs softly, but I've never heard a laugh more devoid of humour. "You're too hot for your own good, you know that, right? I knew others would notice, but why the hell did it have to be McMahon? I can't do a fucking thing for you against him and that's alls I want, Punkers. I love you too fucking much to let you endure this alone, but, alls I can do is be your fucking cheerleader. I want to be there for you, to give you what you need, but what do you fucking need? I don't know, I can't read you on this and it scares me, Punkers. I can _always_ read you. You gotta tell me what you need." His arms squeeze me tightly and he kisses my hair. "I'm right here, I'm behind you, I got your back." His lips against my hair again, and I can feel sleep creeping up on me once more. "You can do this, Punkers."

* * *

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**Brokenspell77- I think at this point Vince is underestimating Punker's he does not see him as an equal intelligence wise,so the conversation was enlightening for him. I think in the future he may learn just how smart Punk is. Unanswered questions are what we are good at! I believe at tis point Punk is in the same shoes too many unanswered questions for his liking also! thanks for the amazing review!**

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	7. nec poena criminis apta

Backstage at RAW is not somewhere I'm used to yet, one day I will be but for now, I feel like a green kid, still at the hello sir, my name's Punk level of locker room importance. It's a week before WrestleMania, a week before I get to be in my first Mania match, thanks to my hard work over those two nights in Vince's beach house. Time has moved by quickly, he's demanded very little of me lately, a couple of nights in a hotel when he's in the same city but nothing else. I'm assuming it's because of Mania. The Granddaddy of them all has to be keeping its creator busy but it's making me suspicious, soon enough Mania will be over and his attention will be back on me.

This match should be a dream come true, yet alls I can think about is the way it was earned that weekend, because of the way it was earned, this opportunity feels tainted. It could've been so much worse and I was prepared for so much worse, I didn't enter into this agreement to be rewarded, yet that's what I'm getting, a pat on the head for being a good boy. And my opponents, the man I replaced, a man who appeared to genuinely enjoy being the whatever it is I am of McMahon's, a man who when he was told it was over trashed a hotel room. I've seen him back stage a few times, and I don't know if he looks any different. We move in different circles, I don't know the guy, don't really care to, but there's a glimmer of guilt that for some reason Vince's eye strayed from him to me. McMahon never fully explained why he was looking to end it with Hardy, I didn't really ask, I suppose. I didn't, I don't, really care but it would be interesting to hear the reasoning. Hardy and I, I will admit there are similarities, but the differences are night and day. He fills himself with drugs, abuses his body, both in and out of the ring. I'm straight edge, I look after myself, as well as any wrestler can really. He's got friends for days in the locker room, I've got my group of buddies and the rest are indifferent or out-right disdainful of me. He's mainstream over, and no matter what I do, I'm the Internet darling. His position in this company is strong, and mine ever clinging by a thread, though that last one might have changed, I've not forgotten Vince's threats of eternal paperwork. I've no love for Hardy, yet I replaced him, and if the rumours were right, he loved Vince, loved this life style and he was never in it for anything else but love, yet Vince, based on my limited conversation with him on Hardy, it seems was only really interested in the physical side, emotions didn't enter into it for him. For me though, all his confusing fucking gentleness, that night sitting by the pool, then curling up in his arms, trembling, I don't know what the hell Vince wants from me, I don't know which version of him is real, the one that brutally fucked me in a hotel room or the one that sat asking me about constellations and holding me whilst I slept.

There's maybe two hours before the Raw show and a group of us are discussing spots, well they're discussing spots and I'm nodding, planning better matches in my head. There's a good part of me that wants to scream at these people and demand that they pay attention, that they fucking listen to me, I'm not some green kid, I'm a talented wrestler, I know what I'm doing. Not one of these assholes has a five star match from Meltzer, not one of these assholes has competed in matches that were anything like the ones I had on the Indys, but here I am, a green kid and my role in this dance is to be led, I get that, it just pisses me off. A stagehand comes up to me, looking like the most confused man in the World.

"Mr Brooks?" It's a question and I'm sure this poor fucker is just hoping he has the right person.

"Punk. What do you want?" He looks around, trying to decide if he has the right person, seems to decide he has, so he talks again.

"Mr. McMahon would like to see you in his office, right away." I sigh and nod, I know better than to ignore a summons. Vince might be confusingly gentle with me right now, but I've not forgotten that first fuck, I've not forgotten the pain of him taking me that first time. Hardy's eyes narrow slightly and I shrug. The others in the group laugh and wave me away, telling me to be careful, Vince likes them skinny and tatted up. I force a laugh out and assure them that I'm perfectly capable of fending off the advances of old men, if only these assholes knew the truth.

I let myself into Vince's office, not bothering to knock, knowing he'll be expecting me. He glances up from some paperwork and gestures to a chair. I sit and wait, staring at the blandly magnolia walls, there's a reproduction print of some picture I don't recognise, something from the Renaissance, I think, and the fact that I can't place it begins to annoy me more than it should.

"How are you today, Punk?" It remains a relief to me that he never uses my real name, it would seem too intimate, but I guess that is about the only way I've not been intimate with this man, he's fucked me dozens of times, has run his hands all over my body, kissed me more times than I care to count.

"Fine." I mutter, still staring at the painting, I wonder if there's a tag on it, or an artist's signature, something, it really is annoying me, I feel like I should know the damn thing but I don't. He chuckles and I glance at him, he's leaning back in his chair, an amused smirk on his face. I can feel his eyes on me and I give up, standing and walking over to the print.

"Do you like it?" He asks me, I shrug vaguely, I can't see anything on it and it's definitely annoying me now. He stands and presses himself against my back, arms about my waist. "Rembrandt, The Mill." He laughs softly in my ear. "I really never had you down as being so interested in art, Punk." He bites the mark on the side of my neck again, his lips and teeth worrying it once more. I can't help but hate this mark, the snickers it got, the amount of people who asked if my new girlfriend came with an attachment for getting into the corners.

"Ah." I'm not big on Dutch art, I've a documentary recorded but I've not had time to watch it yet, other things have been more important. His arms squeeze me tightly and I shake my head, trying to focus on the present and not the amount of shit I have to watch. I step away from him, back to my chair; the last thing I want is for some fucker to catch me being held by the boss. "How are you?" It feels like a fundamentally stupid question, I'm not here for pleasantries, he wants something, there's that bored leer in his eyes when he looks at me.

"I'm well, considering. I've been discussing the finish for the Money in the Bank match." Ah, that's why I'm here, a hoop to jump through if I want to win. "How badly do you want to win, Punk?" My eyes narrow slightly as I stare at him, there's no way I'm doing anything with him backstage, it's too risky.

"What do you want to let me win?" He laughs and shakes his head, a scowl on his face.

"Sir, I do remember telling you to call me Sir." He schools his features back to something neutral and I can feel a scowl forming on my own.

"As I remember, it was implicit that sir would only apply in certain situations." I can hear the snarl in my voice and look on his face says that at some stage, more than likely, in the near future I'm going to regret that.

"I think, Punk, I may need to remind you who's in charge here." He sounds horribly bored again, and I shift nervously on the chair, nothing good for me comes from him being bored, I've learned that lesson well enough.

"I'm aware of who's in charge here, Sir." I add the sir in, hoping it'll placate him for now. I've a match soon, I need to get ready, and I don't want to run the risk of anyone finding out about this fucking agreement because he wants to have a go on me at work. Hotel rooms, I can deal with, it's not like he ever stays at the same hotel as the boys anyway, always somewhere more expensive, being a cheap bastard is bred into wrestlers, the same way a love of baby oil is, but backstage has to be off-limits, it's too dangerous. He laughs and stands.

"On your feet." Vince grabs my wrist, pulling me to my feet. "I've been nothing but kind to you, pet, and yet all I get is attitude." He grip tightens and he pulls me closer to him. "If you act like a petulant child, I'll treat you like one." His other hand gropes my ass and I freeze, he looks at me, something odd and unreadable in his eyes, he sighs and shakes his head. "You've a match tonight, right, pet?" I nod sharply, my body still rigid and tense, being groped at work is out, I think my body language is giving that away, and I think I might have earned a slight reprieve. His hands cup my face gently, thumbs stroking over my eyebrows, I stare at him, feeling horribly uncomfortable. I hate this gentle shit.

"Sir, I can't do this at work. I need to get ready" My voice is pitiful and I'm telling myself that I'm trying to appeal to the side that asked me about the stars, the side of him that strokes my hair, but really, I'm just feeling pitiful. This agreement, every time I think I have myself in a place where I can deal with it, every time I think I have a handle on how to survive it, McMahon changes the rules somehow, he does something I don't expect and I'm left scrabbling to try to pull something of myself together.

"Hmm, I know, Punk." He says softly, boredom creeping into his voice; he shakes his head and moves one hand, brushing his thumb over my lips. "You can go." I can't hold back a sigh of relief, relaxing finally. "Once I get a goodbye kiss." He leans forward and his lips press against mine, his tongue running over them. I can do this, one kiss is nothing compared to the things he's done to me. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself that, kissing him never gets any easier. It's the little moments of this agreement being almost nice that I hate. Vince isn't a bad kisser and I hate him for that, if it was all teeth and halitosis, I'd feel better about it, but it's not, it's nice. He tastes of cool mint, his hands pet my hair and back, his tongue explores my mouth, his lips move over my own, careful of my lip-ring, annoyingly careful of it. I hate people tugging on the damn thing and so many girlfriends in the past have but Vince, he only ever offers it a brief lick and then avoids it as much as possible. I hate these moments of consideration and gentleness, so fucking much. He steps away from me, fixing my hair, his eyes flickering over my face. "I expect you in my room tonight after the show." He sounds painfully bored and I know this isn't going to be a night I'm going to enjoy. "You can go now." I nod and try to leave the room without running. As soon as I'm out the door I hurry off, looking for some place to hide while I get my body under control, half-hard because of a kiss from McMahon is not the way I want those assholes to see me.

After Raw, I shower and try very hard to keep my mind blank; dwelling on what might happen will only make things worse for me. A petulant child his words come back to me and the only thing my mind can conjure up at those words is he's gonna spank me. I literally cannot remember the last time I was spanked. I don't know if my parents ever cared enough about anything I did as a child, to actually spank me or not. This isn't really a train of thought I want to go down, so I dry, dress and leave my foggy little hotel bathroom, walk to his much nicer one, several blocks away, thinking about the amount of stuff I need to watch when I get time off next.

I stand in front of his door, wondering if I should knock or send a message, stalling for time as ever. Doors with Vince on the other side of them are becoming something I spend entirely too long staring at. ("You can do this, Punkers.") Colt's voice, firm and determined, whispered into my hair as I lay in his arms that night in my apartment. That night that I'm very carefully not dealing with because I have bigger things to worry about, Colt and his whispered, ranting confessions are a problem for another day. Tonight, I have whatever it is McMahon intends to do to me to cope with.

I knock and he lets me in, his eyes bored and focused, looking me over, and closing the door behind me. I follow him through the suite, it's beautiful, quietly tasteful and never in my life would I be in a place like this if I wasn't here on his orders. He gestures to an armchair, and I sit, feeling horribly out of place and uncomfortable. These damn preambles have become something he seems to enjoy, sitting having a vague conversation, and I use conversation loosely, he questions me, tries to probe into my mind and I try to answer as well as I can, before fucking me. I kind of miss the first few times he fucked me, where it was all strip, bend over, and then brutal pain.

"Your match was good." He hands me a glass of Pepsi and I take a sip, trying to find something to focus on but there's nothing overly interesting in the room, no patterns on the fabric, a Kandinsky reproduction on one wall but I hate abstracts, some flowers, I think calla lilies. Nothing to hold my attention but Vince, and I don't want to give him my attention, he gets enough from me, he doesn't need that as well. I shrug, the match wasn't my best, far from it, it was okay, it was good enough, but not my best work. "You don't agree?" He chuckles and takes a sip from his glass, shifting in his chair and looking at me, eyes boring in to me.

"I... It could have been better." I tell him, my eyes falling to look at the back of my hands. I hate these moments where it's like he's trying to get me to talk to him, to get me to give him something other than my body. I was coerced into this, I wouldn't be here if he didn't threaten everyone and everything I love. Maybe, just maybe, if he had approached me differently, I would've been happy to have these conversations with him. He's a smart guy, he knows so much about the business, I'm willing to bet that he has a million stories that I'd love to hear, but he threatened me, he holds everything I hold dear in the palm of his hand, and I hate him for that.

"Oh? How?" He asks and I sigh, I don't want to talk, I want whatever the hell it is he's got planned over with, so I can go back to my cheap hotel and sleep.

"Can we get on with this?" My voice is far too harsh, I set the now empty glass down far too harshly on the table and he scowls at me, something dark and ugly in his eyes.

"You really do need to remember you place, pet." He sneers the last word and I gulp, I can feel fear trickle down my spine but I force myself to meet his eyes, force myself to look calm, even if my heart is beating faster than a moth's wings. "Strip." He says, tone thoroughly bored and I narrow my eyes, playing at rebellion briefly before complying. I'm not sure why I'm playing at defiance tonight, it feels ludicrous. I know that if I concede to him, it feels good, if I behave in the manner he wants, he can make me feel incredible pleasure, and maybe that's the problem. I don't want to enjoy this, there's something of a martyr complex at work, I guess, some part of me that wants to suffer and to not enjoy this in the least, and it would seem that part is in control tonight. I stand, arms hanging uselessly at my sides once I'm naked, not sure in the least what he wants me to do, my eyes flitting over the room, desperate for something to focus on, to look at, other than him. "On the bed, on your knees." He drawls, voice ponderously bored, his eyes roaming over me. I nod sharply and do as he asks, on my knees, my back to him, hands fisted on my thighs, staring at the infuriatingly white bedclothes. I hear him move around behind me but keep facing the blank white covers, focusing on the contrast between my tanned thighs and the white cloth. "I like the contrast" His words from the beach house drifting through my mind. His hand, coated in some kind of lube, wraps around my cock and jacks me hard, I rise up slightly, giving him better access to stroke me, and focus on the sensations. If he's looking to make me come, I'll make it easier for myself. The pleasure of his tight grip, his slightly rough skin, the slick coolness of the lube, the way his rubs at the head of my cock, my breath quickens, I can feel a sweat forming on my brow as my orgasm gets closer, and just when I'm on the edge of coming, his other hand connects with my ass, the force of the blow knocking me forwards, my weight resting on my forearms.

"Fuck." I gasp, the smack had been utterly unexpected, and the sharp pain is lingering, his hand strokes over my ass.

"You need to be punished, Punk, but do you know why?" He asks me, hand still stroking my ass. I need to be punished, I almost want to laugh, this whole thing is a punishment, it's a plea bargain made for those precious to me. "Do you?" He asks me again, his hand still stroking my ass. I shake my head, I don't know why the fuck he's decided to punish me, beyond me wanting to skip straight to whatever he had planned and not letting him fuck me at work. He sighs once more, and spanks me again, hot pain over the other cheek of my ass, his hand rubbing over it. "Think, what did you do, pet?" He mutters, as his hand connects with my ass again. It's not the worst pain I've ever felt but there is something else mixed with it, something dark, something that calls out to the little parts of me that wanted my parents to pay attention to me, the little parts of me that wanted to be raised, rather than left to grow up.

"I... I don't know, Sir." I mutter and I hear him make an approving humming noise. His hand wrapping around my cock again, stroking me slowly.

"That's better, at least you're learning, Punk." He murmurs, and I realise that that's the first time I've called him Sir since I entered the room. Maybe that's it, he thinks I've been disrespecting him, when really all I wanted was to get this over with, I'm not sure if this what he thinks I need to be punished for but it is the only thing I have, so I lower my head some, my eyes closed and force myself to speak in a calm, quiet voice.

"I was disrespectful, Sir, for that, I'm sorry." He leans over me and presses a soft kiss to my shoulder, running his finger down my spine as he moves away from me.

"There, was that so hard, pet?" He laughs softly, his hands kneading my ass cheeks. "But you still need your punishment. How many times should I hit you?" He asks me, his voice pitched low and bored. I hold back a shudder, the words I'm going to say, I never want to leave my mouth.

"However many you think I deserve, Sir." He strokes my cock again, brings me almost to orgasm and then smacks my ass, the burst of pain edging out the pleasure.

"Count for me." He says, his hands squeezing my ass.

"One." I say softly, and his hand connects with my ass again. "Two." His hand smacks me even harder this time, my breath catches in the back of my throat. "Three." I'm proud of how firm I sound though. The next smack is brutal; the force behind it has me blinking tears from my eyes. "Four." My voice is still firm though, still calm and steady. The fifth smack is as brutally hard as the fourth and I can't help the gasp of pain that escapes me. "Five." My voice is a little softer, a little quieter, a little more pained. The sixth he delivers with the same punishing force and I rest my forehead against my arms. I can feel tears wanting to escape, but I choke them back. "Six." My voice is horribly soft, almost shaky and his hand wraps back around my cock, strokes me hard once more. The seventh strike is delivered quick and light, a reprieve from the earlier blows. "Seven." My voice, however, is infuriatingly wispy. "Eight." This smack is again quick and light, his hand running over my ass gently. Number nine is a brutal shock when it comes, the painful force of it knocking me flat, gasping for air slightly. "N... Nin... Nine." I manage to gasp, trying to keep myself together, my ass burning in pain, I manage to draw myself back up onto my hands and knees and he smacks me just as hard again. "Ten." I pant, focussing on keeping it together, on not letting the tears burning in my eyes fall. He moves and sits at the top of the bed, pulling at me, so that my head is in his lap, his hand running through my hair.

"Shh, good boy. You did very well for your first punishment. Good boy." He mutters soothing nonsense and I lie there, my eyes screwed shut trying to think of anything but his fingers moving slowly and gently through my hair. "Good boy." He says once more and kisses my hair, then stands, moving around the room. I can hear him but I don't open my eyes, instead keeping them screwed shut. I feel him tugging on my hips and I move, letting him position me as he will, pulling me up to rest on my knees once more, my head I rest on my arms, keeping my torso low, and by consequence my ass high. He moans slightly and strokes my ass, then dribbles cool lube down my crack, the sensation of it running between my ass-cheeks making me shiver. He eases one finger inside of me and takes a hold of my cock again, stroking me inside and out. Eventually, he takes his hands from me and I feel my hole being stretched by something larger, something wide and long. He seems to work it into me forever. I'm panting by the time he's finished putting what, I'm guessing, is a dildo inside of me; it doesn't feel like the plugs, it feels like his cock. He strokes my flanks, muttering more soothing nonsense to me and then the vibrations start. I can't hold the moan back as this thing shudders and judders deep inside of me. "Beautiful." I hear Vince mutter behind me, his fingers running over the edge of my asshole, where it's stretched wide. He tries to ease one inside of me, beside the dildo and I make a sound like a strangled turkey.

"NO! Please, Sir. It's too much, please!" I can hear my words, high pitched and frantic tumbling out of my mouth and he leans over my back.

"Eventually, pet." He murmurs softly and I shake my head.

"Please, no, Sir." My voice is nothing more than the tiny squeak of a field mouse and he kisses the side of my head.

"Not for a long time, Punk. Don't worry." He chuckles again and starts stroking my cock, the vibrations and his hand bring my orgasm closer and closer. He stops suddenly and shifts me, moves me onto my back, the change in position making the dildo move inside me, making me gasp, whine almost. Lying on my back, I'm even more aware of the pain of my spanked ass, the flesh there feels horribly tender. His fingers trail along my stomach, downwards till he reaches my erection, then he starts jacking me, slow and light, I strain into his touch, the pleasure of it and the vibrations inside me, almost cancelling out the pain of my ass-cheeks. He smiles at me, something I don't recognise in his eyes and he wraps his lips around my cock, sucking me almost painfully hard, his hand moving over my length. I come quickly, but he doesn't stop sucking on me, his hands feel like they're milking me almost, like they're aiming to get every drop of cum out of me. Eventually he switches off the vibrations and lets my cock leave his mouth. He kisses me, forcing my own cum into my mouth and I let him, I lie there and let him kiss me, feed me my own ejaculate, without resistance. I feel rather like Locutus, lying there staring at the ceiling trying to gather myself, being painfully that resistance is futile. He pulls the dildo from me, I don't see it but I feel the sudden emptiness and it's strange. I wonder which is stranger, the feeling of being filled or the feeling of being empty, it's not a concern most people have I guess. He sits on the bed by me after a while, his eyes focussed on my face, my own staring up at the too white ceiling. "Do you understand why I had to punish you?" He asks me, one finger running down my nose, tapping on the end of it. I nod meekly, I couldn't care less why he thinks he had to punish me, I couldn't care less about anything in this room, I want to go home, I want to be clean again, but I'm tired, so fucking drained and so fucking tired. He stands and the next thing I'm fully aware of is him rolling me onto my stomach, rubbing some soothing lotion onto my ass. "Good boy." He mutters softly. I feel the bed dip beside me once more and he sits, so that my head in his lap. "Sleep, pet." He strokes my hair, his fingers scratching at my scalp lightly every so often. I didn't want to but I must have drifted off to sleep for a while, I awoken by him shaking my shoulder. "You can leave now." He tells me, hands me my clothes. I dress carefully, my body aching and my mind fuzzy, with sleep and confusion. "My goodbye kiss first, Punk." He catches my wrist and I freeze. He cradles my face again, his thumbs stroking my eyebrows, another soft, gently thorough kiss. "Get some sleep, you look tired. I expect a match you're happy with tomorrow." He smiles at me; he smiles all soft and pleasant, like some kindly uncle and I feel sick, nodding and scurrying for the door.

I'm in my room before I even really realized I left Vince's hotel room, curled up in a ball on the cheap bed. My mind churning over and over, staring at the ugly abstract pattern on the curtains, blocks and lines in mustard yellow and shit brown, all horribly seventies and so very cheap. My cell rings, my own cell and I know without look at it, I know solely by the ringtone, who it is. I answer and put it on speaker, resting the handset on the pillow beside me.

"Talk to me. Please just talk to me, till I fall asleep, Colt."

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**Okay thank you everyone for reading, please remember to review.  
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**Rebellecherry, brokenspell77, littleone1389, minibatman, thank you so much for your lovely reviews, I would normally respond to each of you but life in time are in the way a the moment. So thank you and I hope that you liked this chapter!**


	8. Dualitas

I fell asleep to the sound of Colt talking, the lull of his voice as he rambled about nothing. He expected nothing from me, he just talked till I was asleep, and that is why he's my best friend, the one person I turn to before anyone else, the one person I trust above all others. He knows me, knows when to push, when to back down, when to force an issue and when to concede.

When I woke the next morning, I lay in bed and stared at the curtains some more. I didn't want to leave the warmth of the blankets, it felt like a chrysalis, a warm, safe cocoon, wrapped all around me, if I stayed there, I wouldn't have to check the damage of last night, there was still a phantom sting of pain in my ass, but all chrysalises are intended to be emerged from. All butterflies must spread their wings and eventually after what felt like hours of not thinking, of laying in a daze, I emerged and went straight to the shower.

The spanking, Vince's punishment, it weighs on my mind. I've been in humiliating positions before, hell, sexually humiliating positions but never with another man, and therein lay my continued problem. I _hated _it because of who did it to me, I _hated_ it because it was a situation I was enduring but I _enjoyed_ it because, well, it felt good. Not the pain, I'm no masochist, not really, but there was something cathartic about being spanked, something that felt horribly like being taken care of, like someone was interested in me enough to want to correct me. I hate where I know this is going. I don't need to bring the past into the present but there's that sliver of me that wants to, that wants the discipline of being raised rather than being left to grow up like I was, that stupid little bit of me that only ever wanted a pat on the back and told well done. That bit was dominant, as I lay with my head in Vince's lap last night. It's that stupid little bit that understood, _enjoyed_, the punishment, it's that stupid little bit that I'm growing to hate more and more. The small victory of the whole thing was overcoming that little part of me, of keeping the tears stinging my eyes back. Vince doesn't know me, the _real _me, and he's not getting too, this is a gimmick, a role. CM Punk is a versatile character; I can handle having two gimmicks at once. Phil Brooks, though, he's a little more fragile, he's a little more that _sliver_, I worry that he can't can survive Vince's games without losing himself.

Vince is playing a game with me, I understand that. His confusing gentleness and compassion are all designed to throw me off. Last night though, he blew me without expecting anything in return, and that's fucking with me. He's not without kindness, the way he _cared_ for me after he dealt out his punishment shows that, but I've seen his cruelty, experienced the brutality first hand. He wears two masks and I never know which one he'll have on, certainly, he's worn a mask of clemency more often than not lately, but what about when his callousness returns? How do I stay one-step ahead of him, how keep myself intact when I never know what to expect next, how do I fight a war when my enemy is a chameleon? It's a problem I can't solve now. I worry that it's a problem I'll never be able to solve.

If only Vince were my only problem, my life would be so much easier if he was but he's not, not even close. If Vince had never started this with me, if he'd never forced me in this agreement, then I would have been able to go through my life never acknowledging how Colt feels about me.

_"I love you, and you know what the worst thing is? You fucking know that, you know it and you still do this shit to me."_

His words, he loves me, he implied he wants me, or at the very least is jealous that Vince has fucked me, and if he hadn't, Colt would have never had reason to have that rant, that _confession_. Those words, they were never meant for my ears but I heard them and now, I have to deal with them. Everyone can be worked, I remember sitting beside him and saying that to the camera in the shoot we recorded for ROH, but there's an unwritten rule. Everyone _else_ can be worked, but we don't work each other. In an ocean of falsehood and lies, between us there is a river of truth, but there are some truths that are never meant to be spoken. How the hell do I deal with this _confession_? Do I pretend I never heard him, keep the awkwardness on my own end, or do I talk to him, tell him that I love him too, just not in the way he wants, that unlike him, I don't feel any physical attraction because there's no denying he's attracted to me. His porn collection confirms it. That one video, I'll never be on my knees in front of him, no matter how many times it replays in my head, no matter how many times he re-watches it, it'll never be us. Probably. Vince, when I play his game, his actions give me pleasure, incredible pleasure, there'd be no games with Colt but that's the point. He loves me, has been in love or lust at least, with me for years. For me it would be fulfilling some kind of pleasure based goal, for him, it'd be more, so much more and I can't even consider that. He's my best friend, my confidante, I _love _him but philia, staunchly, deeply wholly the love between brothers, between friends, not the love of lovers. You can't fuck a straight man gay, you can't force love to change, maybe it'll happen naturally but I don't love Colt that way. I can't even imagine that, and yet he has. He's hoped for the day I tire of women. Is he hoping that somehow this agreement with Vince will change me? Does he want to pick up the pieces, glue me back together? I may be wounded, but Vince will never break me. I don't, I won't, I can't need gluing together. So maybe I need to stop encouraging him, stop letting his voice sooth me to sleep, stop using him as a safe haven. I should make it clear to Colt that I love him, just not in the way he wants, I love him but I'm not in love with him.

I could survive this without him. I survived last night without him, so maybe it would be best to distance him from everything, remove him from the equation. But the truth of last night is I didn't survive without him; I managed till he called me. Chance, fate, _luck_, they had nothing to do with it, it's our bond that had him calling me, that certain knowledge that some times, we need to be there for each other, _philia_ binding us closer than family, closer than lovers. I needed him and he was there. His voice soothing me to sleep, washing away the sounds of Vince's hand hitting my flesh, my gasps and moans, all sunk under the gentle torrent of his words. In the end, I'm a selfish man, my martyr complex only goes so far and one secret isn't a lot in the grand scheme of things, one secret between us is nothing, I hope.

Not winning the briefcase at Mania comes as no surprise. I knew I wasn't going to win long before some lackey came to me with the script. I assumed it was an extension of my punishment, further proof, if I ever had any doubts, of who's in charge here. Vince actually sought me out after Mania, spoke to me in the gorilla, asked me how I felt about losing, in public, I said that it was a good idea to push Kennedy, I acted mildly disappointed but understanding. In private, when he asked in a hotel room, I played the role of his _pet_, telling him that I understand that I lost because I disappointed him, that I hope to be able to make it up to him. All that bullshit seemed to pacify him. He stroked my hair, tucked it behind my ears and gave me a look I couldn't understand, gentle, almost loving, before telling me maybe next time. Honestly, I wasn't upset by it though. There's still more for me in ECW, still more for me to accomplish before I get drafted anywhere else, so if it was punishment, it didn't feel like it.

Thankfully, every time Vince's summoned me since the night he punished me, has been rather vanilla, an almost pleasant fuck in some blandly expensive hotel room, something I can handle well enough. It's becoming okay, I don't want it to be but I'm getting more used to the feeling of a man touching me, getting accustomed to the feeling of Vince's hands on me, his cock inside me. It's not something I want to be happening but there's no point in denying to myself that physically, he can play me well, he can make me feel horribly good. I hate that, but I'm not in the business of denying facts to myself.

I'm grateful it's been vanilla, I don't think I could cope with anything heavier right now because I'm busy avoiding my haven. Every call, every text I get from Colt, I fob off with excuses, paper-thin reasons for why I can't talk. He's letting me get away with it, but I know him, eventually he's not going to accept this from me and he's going to want me to talk to him. It's not that I don't want to speak to him, it's just I haven't figured out what to say, and if I figure that out, there's the problem of how to say it. Words have always been my weapons, I'm never without them, but right now, I have no idea what to say to the one person I can always talk to, I can always rely on. Everyone can be worked, but right now, I don't want to work Colt. I want to resolve his _issues_ with me, it's just I don't know how. I finally got around to deleting his educational porn from my email, all but one video, that one little clip that I've watched back, that one little video that I don't want to think about, that I want to delete but can't bring myself to for reasons I can't quite fathom.

During the run up to Mania, they'd had me in the middle of a storyline with the ECW Originals and the New Breed. I suppose it should be flattering but really I can see where they're going with this, before I'm even told I'll be joining the New Breed and honestly, I'm not a fit for them. As much as it pains me, right now, I'm a face, turning me heel makes no sense. This would be a rant I'd have at Colt but I can't bring myself to call him. If I call him, he'll be all himself and I'll have to play at being me because I can still hear him talking to me as I pretended to sleep, can still hear him promising to be there for me, to be whatever it is I needed, if only I'd tell him what that was. So my options are narrowed down to two, I can call Ace and rant at him or I can appeal to Vince. At the start of this, when he first proposed this to me, he did say if he was feeling magnanimous he could make things happen for me. Alls I can do is hope that he's feeling _magnanimous_.

He's backstage, at a meeting with ECW Creative, and I've considered long and hard how to approach the subject with him, this sounds like the perfect opportunity. I knock on the office door and eventually someone shouts come in. In the room, Vince is sitting behind a big desk, and Creative perched around the room on folding chairs.

"Punk." He looks at me coolly and I fidget slightly.

"Ah, sorry, I was looking for Lagana." I mutter, and Dave walks over to me, starts asking me what's up. I need to play this right in order to get Vince to ask me himself, so I shake my head and make vague excuses at Dave. Before long Vince is on his feet, asking me what I want. I start laying out my opinion on the storyline, how I think the heel turn is pointless, how really with the position I'm in with the fans, being face makes more sense. Vince's eyes don't move from me as I talk, his expression isn't one I've seen before and after I finish, no one says anything, everyone is looking between Vince and me. He clears his throat and turns to Creative briefly, then turns back to me.

"We'll take your ideas into consideration, Punk." He opens the door and ushers me out. I end up pacing backstage, feeling at once nervous and excited. Maybe an hour later, Vince's cell goes off.

_Meet me tonight. We'll talk about your idea, pet. _

Talk about my idea, its more encouraging than I had hoped for, if I'm honest, I'd expected to be dismissed outright straight away.

I get to his hotel room that night; he greets me with what is becoming standard, one of those horribly thorough kisses, his thumbs running over my eyebrows before he pulls the band from my hair. He lets me go and I sit down.

"You don't think you can play heel?" He asks me, as he hands me a glass of Pepsi and sits in an armchair opposite the couch I'm sitting on. I sip at the drink and set it down carefully.

"It's not that, Sir." I'm getting better at remembering to play the role of pet, it's humiliating but I know the reason I endure this humiliation, I know the why, so I've to accept this, it's just a role, just a gimmick.

"What is it then?" He asks me, sipping at his own drink and watching me carefully, his eyes focussed on me. I sigh and fidget in the chair, I really don't think he'd appreciate if I sat cross-legged, no matter how much more comfortable I am with my feet tucked up, I'll stay sitting as I am, feet on the floor.

"It makes no sense in my character's story to be heel now." He raises his eyebrow.

"You really don't want to be booed?" He laughs and I sigh again, I can't help but think he can't have ever seen any of my Indy matches.

"Sir, if I thought being a heel was best for the Company, then I'd be a heel." His expression changes, something in his eyes softens. "If it were up to me, I'd be a heel but there's no point in turning me. I'm over as a face, and there's more I can do for the Company right now as one." I can't help but add that, because really, if it were up to me, I'd be out there snarling and snapping at the fans. I'm much more at home making people hate me; it's far easier for me.

"Hmm." He finishes his drink and stands, going to the bar and pouring another. "Best for the Company?" He asks, looking at me and I nod. It's arrogant, perhaps, to assume that I know what would be best for his empire but I know that this storyline is pointless. He smiles, something of a leer bleeding into it. "I'll consider taking your ideas on board, if you do something for me." I nod slightly, picking up my glass and sipping at it.

"What do you want me to do, Sir?" I meet his eyes for as long as I can, then let them dart around the room, seeking out something else to look at whilst listening to whatever it is he's going to ask me to do. Behind him is a print, _Starry Sky_. I like Van Gogh, like the idea of his work, and if anything, this one is my favourite. Isolation, insanity, and hope all in one painting, it's a beautiful thing really. I think I must be wearing some kind of odd expression because Vince glances behind himself.

"You like this one?" He asks me, holding his hand out to me. "C'mere." I stand, forcing myself to my feet. "I'm not a fan of impressionists." Vince mutters, running his hands through my hair and I shrug, I don't know much about Dutch artists but I like Van Gogh. "Have you been to see it?" He asks me, moving to stand behind me, his arms around my waist. I shake my head, staring at the cypress bush, looming and dark in front of the quaint little houses. "It's in New York." He mutters, sucking at his mark on the side of my neck.

"I know. I've never had the time." I say quietly, the swirling sky itself has always been my favourite part of this picture. The stars and moon, huge, overpowering and bright, the swirls like galaxies. It might have been painted from a sanatorium but I've always seen such clarity in this picture. The universe is huge, we are mere peons gazing up at it, trying to capture it but getting nowhere, no closer to understanding. I don't think that's what the _critics_ would say but art is subjective. "What do you want me to do, Sir?" I ask him, no closer to understanding but able to ask for clarification, one difference between my life and Van Gogh's. Vince makes an odd noise and rests his chin on my shoulder.

"There's plenty of things I want to do to this body." He runs one hand up my chest, cradles my chin, and brushes my lips with his thumb. "But you're asking for something _big_, Punk." He laughs softly, forces his thumb between my lips. "Double penetration." He whispers in my ear, and I freeze.

"You said you wouldn't share." My voice is a tiny pathetic whimper around his digit and he laughs, releases me only to turn me around, holding my face again.

"No one else will lay a hand on you whilst you're mine." He says, laughing at me. I know I look confused, double penetration will require two cocks, and I only hope he really means a spit roast because two cocks in my ass is not happening. The fact that I'm feeling so very rational right now is going to bite me in the ass, I can tell. As soon as I leave this room, I'm going to think about this properly and have my own moment of insanity; I wonder if I cut my ear off, will Vince let me out of this. "A dildo, Punk." He says and I swallow, a dildo and him inside of me at the same time, I'm certain it's not a spit roast he' wanting.

"Now?" I ask him, I've a match tomorrow night, after that I've a few days off and something tells me this is going to be something I'm going to need a few days to recover from. He laughs and pulls me closer to him, his hands groping my ass.

"Tomorrow, after your match." He says. "You look tired." His hands cup my face again, stroking my eyebrows and tucking my hair behind my ears. "Get some sleep, have a match you're happy with, Punk and tomorrow you can try and earn the right to be listened to." His lips are on mine and I just return the kiss. It is easier this way, and maybe sometimes with Vince easy is better. I make to leave the room, am at the door when he calls to me.

"Punk." I turn to face him, he's looking at me strangely, something odd in his eyes. "When you're in New York next, go and see it." His hand waving at the print on the wall. "You should take the time to appreciate beautiful things in person." I nod slightly.

"I will. Goodnight, Sir."

By the time I'm back to my hotel, my mind is a mess. I hate when he gives me time to think on things, when I have time alone with myself, I prove to be my own worst enemy. I pace the room, and end up going for a late night run, anything to try and silence the never-ending cycle of my thoughts. His cock in my ass is too much most of the time, his cock and a dildo inside of me at once is going to lead to more of those good fun fissures.

I end up researching online, reading how this is something people usually work up to, days, weeks, months of stretching, preparing, getting their bodies used to the stretch and I get a few hours. This is going to hurt, there's no way it's not going to hurt, there's literally nothing I can do to make it not hurt.

"Hey." I've called him before I really thought about it, I need my haven. Truly, I'm selfish man.

"_Punkers?_" He sounds, tired, like I've woke him up.

"Sorry, you sleeping, man?" I find myself pacing once more, my cell to my ear, walking from one wall to the other, the movement helping me focus.

"_I was._" He yawns; I can see him in my mind, scratching the back of his head, rubbing his eyes, trying to work out why I'm calling at whatever ungodly hour this is. "_What's up? You sound weird._" I don't think I do, I think I sound rather normal but my opinion might be biased.

"I... Uh... I have a question, but..." I can't really make the words form right in my head, can't make them come out, so I trail off.

"_A question?_" He sounds more awake, I hear him flick on a light, hear him rustling around in his bed, probably sitting it. "_Fire away._" I sigh, and shake my head uselessly. "_What is it? It something to do with this thing with McMahon?_" I laugh softly and he sighs. "_Punkers._"

"You ever dp'ed a guy?" Sometimes I wish I would consider my words more carefully, that was far from the eloquence I'm often told I have. He laughs on the other end of the line and I sit on the bed, enduring his amusement.

"_Wait!_" He snaps suddenly. "_I thought he wasn't sharing._" Something dark and vicious beneath his tone.

"Dildo." I make myself more comfortable, trying to not think about his voice, to not think about how bitter he sounds.

"_Once, the guy was kinda kinky. Not really my scene._" He sighs, and in my mind, I can see him, fidgeting awkwardly. We don't talk about sex; it's not something we've ever really discussed until now, another thing to _thank _Vince for. "_That's gonna hurt, Phil._" It surprises me when he says my real name, when he says it with such gut-wrenching softness and I laugh nervously.

"I'll be fine." I say as firmly as I can manage.

"_Punkers._" Somehow, my nickname is even worse than my real name, somehow hearing him say it like that is utterly abhorrent to me. "_You can walk away. You do know that, right? Whatever he's holding over you, it'll be fine. ROH, the guys in ECW, fuck, I'll be fine._"

"So will I." I think I sound firm, I think I sound determined, his sigh makes me feel less confident though, that one soft puff of air, draws the little facade away from me.

"_I worry about you._" He says softly, followed by a heavy exhalation, something he does when he's trying to keep himself under control. "_Get some sleep._" The exact words Vince said to me, and the thought of the same words coming from them both makes me feel slightly queasy.

"I will. G'night." I tell him, but I can't be the one to hang up, I can't bring myself to end the call.

"_G'night Punkers._" He does though, hangs up easily and I'm left with only myself and late night infomercials for company.

The next day passes me by in a fuzzy daze, I'm tired, I didn't sleep but then again, sleeping and I are rarely on good terms with one another. My match, I'm at least content with, I get back to my hotel room, shower and wait for my summons. Both of my cells go off at the same time, both text messages, one from Vince, telling me his hotel and room number, the other from Colt.

_I'll be here if you need me, but you can do it, Punkers. _

When I enter his room, my mouth is dry and my pulse is racing. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying to calm myself down. He wraps an arm around my waist and draws me back against his chest.

"You're shaking pet." He murmurs in my ear, I hadn't noticed but now that he's said it, I can feel fine tremors running through my limbs, literally shaking in fear. "Shh, it's okay." His voice is soft and low in my ear, one of his hands presses against my stomach, the other rubs at my arm. "Relax." He says softly, holding me close and I want to laugh at him. It's easy for him to tell me to relax; he isn't going to have his asshole filled with his cock and a dildo. I've thought on this too long; I don't want to do this. This is another test, I survive this and I prove myself to him, I earn my reward, only this reward is entirely selfish. This isn't a reward like before; this is self-serving, using this agreement to my own benefit, something I thought I'd never do. I force myself to relax, to calm down and he squeezes me, presses a kiss to the side of my head and leads me to the bed. I sit and he hunkers down in front of me, one hand pulling the tie from my hair, before both cup my face, thumbs stroking over my eyebrows. "I'll be back, relax pet." Vince kisses my forehead and leaves me sitting on the bed. I look around the room trying to find anything to focus on, anything to help me through the pain I know is coming. Magnolia walls, cream carpet, snowy white calla lilies, crisp white cotton on the bed, no colours, no patterns, just a smooth blank white canvas. I hate rooms like this; they feel like unfinished or maybe un-started, so much potential unrealised. There's a dildo and a bottle of lube on the nightstand. The dildo is bigger than I had hoped, thinner than Vince's cock but long, terrifyingly long. There is no way this isn't going to hurt, but where on the pain scale of stubbed toe to skull fracture, it's going to rank, I've no idea. A glass is thrust in front of my face. "Water." He states simply and I nod, taking a sip. He stands in front of me, looking at me carefully, waiting for me to finish the water. Once I'm done, he holds a hand out and I give him the glass, he sets it on the table by the lilies and sits in a chair. "Strip." I stand and start getting undressed, thankful that I don't start shaking again.

"How..." My body might not be trembling but my voice is, I clear my throat and start again. "How do you want me, Sir?" His eyes are lingering over me, I can feel his eyes on my skin, he licks his lips and his eyes flicker up to mine.

"Prep yourself, Punk. Let me watch you." He sounds slightly _wistful_, not something I was expecting. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing. "I _want_ to watch you." His voice is harder, colder, I nod in response. "When I give a command, I expect an answer, _pet_."

"Yes sir." I answer without really thinking about it, easy is sometimes better, this is already going to be bad, I don't need to make it worse. I take the lube and dildo, and sit in the middle of the bed, his gaze is heavy on me, something in his eyes, something beyond the usual leer. I can't hold his gaze, so lower my eyes to concentrate on trying to get ready for what's to come. I slide a slicked finger into myself and carefully think of nothing, breathing deeply, trying to relax. I've just pulled my fingers from my body and am easing the head of the dildo into me, when I hear an odd strangled moan. I look up at Vince, at some stage he's got undressed, and is slowly jacking his cock, watching me.

"Keep going." His voice is hoarse, rough around the edges and I nod, slide more of the dildo into me. "More." I keep applying pressure on it, forcing more into my ass. When it's as deep as I can bear to force it, I draw it out, slowly, feeling every inch as it moves out of my body. I pull it free and apply more lube to it, then work it back in, deep and slow, shallowly fucking myself with it, wriggling it as I move in and out, trying to stretch my body open more. I hear Vince move, and feel the bed dip as he sits beside me. His hand trails up my thigh, soft, gentle, I open my eyes to look at him. "Who do you think of?" He asks me, his voice still hoarse, his touches still soft. He leans down, claiming a kiss I don't fight him on. "What goes through your mind when you do this?" His hand runs down my chest and he take my cock in his hand, stroking me slowly, it surprises me to the extent that I stop fucking the dildo. "Do you think of me?" He smiles slightly, his hand still stroking me. "Keep going." I start moving the fake cock once more, his smile growing the familiar leer bleeding over his face. "Who do you think of when you do this? You look like you're enjoying it so much." His free hand moves my hair from where it's sticking in the sweat on my forehead. I shake my head, I don't think of anyone, I think of nothing, focus on the feelings, on how it feels good. "C'mon now, there must be something going on in there." He taps my forehead with one finger. "I've seen enough of you to know, that there's _always _something going on in that head of yours." My eyes narrow and he laughs. "Your eyes give you away, Punk." Vince strokes my eyebrow, staring at me, something odd in his expression. "I don't believe for one second that you don't think of anything, anyone." His finger runs down my nose, over my lips. "Someone has to fire you up." He leans down, licks over my lips. "Someone _has_ to make you look so..." He trails off and shakes his head. I lie there, staring up at him, confused as to what just happened. He grabs the lube from beside me and coats the hand stroking my cock. The first press of his finger by the dildo has me screwing my eyes shut and biting my lip. "Relax." He snaps and I nod, trying to relax, trying to make it easier for him to breach me. "_Relax pet_. It's going in no matter what. Stop fighting it." His tone is horribly bored and cold, his eyes hard. Finally, that one finger is inside of me, I can't keep the pained moan back, it escapes without my consent. His other hand moves through my hair as a second finger starts probing at my asshole. Another gasp leaves me when it slides alongside the dildo. He starts moving his fingers inside of me, starts stretching me even more. I already feel beyond my limit, the desire to back out rears its head and I must show some sign of it, because Vince leans over and kisses me. "Shh, you're doing well pet." His hand smoothes over my hair. "Good boy, Punk, you're doing good." He kisses my forehead and I let my eyes close, desperate for something to distract me, fishing through my mind trying to find something to focus on. The video I couldn't delete is the only thing that comes to my mind. The image of that bleached blond almost me, on his knees in front of his lover who could almost be Colt, his lips stretched wide around his lover's cock, strong hands tangling in his hair, a soft voice encouraging him. _("You can do this, Punkers.") _It's not what I wanted to think of, it's not what I wanted to see, not what I wanted to hear, but it's what came to me. My mind twisting it, bleeding my own tattoos over the man on his knees skin, my own lips stretching around that cock, the hands in his hair changing to the familiar ones of my best, dearest friend.

"Fuck." The distraction my mind summoned up worked well, too well. Vince has changed position, his cock nudging at my already stuffed asshole, slowly easing alongside the dildo. I feel the pressure, the burn, the pain, as my body stretches, letting him work his way inside of me. He forces about half of his cock inside of me before he starts withdrawing, slowly pulling out, the dildo pressing firmly against my prostate, sending pained jolts of something less painful through me, but nothing can truly counter the agony I'm feeling. My breathing sounds wheezy, like the dying breathes of some tiny animal, tears are stinging my eyes, my nails digging into my palms.

"Shh." Vince murmurs, stilling with only the tip of his cock inside of me. "Shh, it's okay." He kisses my hair and pulls out, sits back a little and takes my hands in his. "Hold on to me." He says letting them go, and spreading more lube over his cock, more into my body. My hands clamp on to his forearms has he pushes inside me once more. I focus on how white my knuckles are, how this will probably leave bruises on his skin, a part of me is pleased with this idea, the thought of harming him, even in some small petty way is pleasing to me. He slowly rocks into me and my mind drifts once more. This time to the conversation I had with Colt. He's done this before, I wonder if it was a three-way, if it was him, that crazy fuck who wanted this and someone else, or was it a fake cock in that guy's asshole too. I wonder if Colt enjoyed, if this is better from the other side, because the view from the bottom is awful. Vince's hand take hold of my flaccid cock, he starts stroking me slowly, in time with his shallow thrusts. I'm not going to get hard, I know I'm not, this hurts far too much for me to enjoy it, the pain shooting up my spine is too intense, every movement he makes is agony.

"Please, sir, just..." I trail off, I'm not sure what I want to say, not entirely sure what I mean but I know I won't come like this, there's no way. Vince stops, his cock maybe halfway inside me.

"Hmm." He looks down at me, his eyes narrowed. "The deal was to get two cocks in you, I suppose pet." He looks at me consideringly. "You did well." He pulls out and takes the dildo from me, before thrusting into my body; it's almost a relief to have only him in me, almost a relief to feel only his flesh and not the pliable latex in there too. He fucks me hard, brutally almost, I can feel myself tensing up, and he groans, his mouth near my ear. "So tight, pet, still so tight. Good boy, such a good boy. Earned your reward, good boy." His words are softly panted; his breath damp and I almost shudder. His hand wraps around my cock and he jacks me hard and fast, my cock hardening under his touch. When I come it's sudden and unexpected, I didn't think I was that interested in this but apparently, I was. He comes shortly after, thrusting weakly, his cum feels different inside me. I can tell he must have torn me by the sharp little stings of pain. I'm not a fan of cum inside of me, it's not something I think I'll ever get used to, it feels bitterly like being marked as someone else's property, but I'm familiar with the way his feels in me, and this isn't it. He pulls out of me, the empty feeling is more than welcome, I can feel his cum dribble out of me, his fingers brush against my asshole, playing with his cum as it leaks from me. He holds one cum covered finger in front of my face and I baulk, and he laughs at me, wiping his finger off on the blankets. Then Vince lies down beside me and gathers me close, pulling me into his arms, stroking my hair. "Shh, sleep, pet." His voice is soft; gentle almost, his hand running through my hair. I can't bring myself to fight the sleep he's lulling me into, so I let it drift over me, trying hard to not listen to the gentle words he keeps murmuring into my ear. I wake up sometime later; he's dressed in what looks like silk pyjamas and holding another glass of water. "You've the next few days off, right?" He asks me, I take the glass from him and sip at it, sitting up and regretting it instantly. I try to keep the pain from showing but I know I've failed when I meet his eyes; he looks at me with something close to pity, almost _shame_. "Go home, rest, _heal_, pet." He says softly. "You'll get better at this." He smiles at me and I feel sick, something leaden settles in my stomach. "I'd like you to consider playing properly when we go back to my house." He pulls the blankets from me, a tacit indication that I'm being dismissed. I stand carefully and start getting dressed; my clothes were neatly folded on the end of the bed.

"When?" I ask him as I pull my pants up, tying the belt.

"The end of the month. I'd like you to spend another weekend." I nod and pull my shirt on. He might be phrasing this request with all _if I wants _and _I would likes_, but I know there is no choice in this for me, a decision that isn't a decision at all.

"Of course, sir." I mutter, zipping my hoodie back up. He comes over to me, and takes my chin in his hand.

"Good." His kiss is infuriatingly soft, I wish he was brutal in this too, it wouldn't be so horribly juxtaposed with the agony he forced me to endure. Agony I can't fully justify because it serves only myself, this action, it wasn't for my friends, it wasn't for my family, it was for me. I might be a selfish man, but my selfishness has selfless motivation. This? It was pure self-concern; there was no motivation beyond how it would benefit me.

Once I'm dismissed, I head back to my hotel room, my cell lying on the bed where I left it. Texts from Colt on the screen. The brief fantasy from when Vince and the dildo were inside of me springs instantly to my mind. I can't do this with him anymore, I can't keep relying on him.

_Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Call me when you can. I'm behind you, but you can do this, Punkers._

_I'm heading back to Chicago, you got time to come visit?_

I send the message and lie down, staring at the ceiling. My cell goes off almost immediately.

_When?_

No questions, just a request for a date, maybe a time, I don't know.

_Tomorrow_.

It's simple and honest. We need to talk, I need to draw a line in the sand with him, so I can draw it with myself. I don't love him, I'm not attracted to him, yet my subconscious draws images of us together to distract me because I _know_ he'd never hurt me, and the fool that he is, he believes the same of me, but I am hurting him, whether by accident of design, I am hurting us, my subconscious is _tainting_ us, our friendship and I need it to stop. The line in the sand _has_ to be drawn; I just need to work out where.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, please remember to review!  
**

**rebellecherry- Glad we didn't disappoint, yes Punkers got a spanking, hell his ass is just made for a good spanking!**

**Brokenspell77- Vince continues to confuse everyone! The small moments of kindness through Punk for a loop every time! I'm glad you are enjoying this story!**

**littleone1389-Vince's duality is slowly making Punk lose his mind lol! He is trying just like the rest of us to figure out what the hell Vince's motives are! Turning to Colt is causing Punk more issues than he would like to acknowledge.**


	9. Definiens Momenta

It was, perhaps a stupid idea to drive home, but I need the time to think, the road is a good place to consider my options. I know Colt will be waiting for me, probably at my place. He'll have questions, lots of questions, he'll want to know what I want to say, and at this stage, I want to know that as well. I don't have answers for myself, how can I give any to Colt? I'm not even sure what questions he'll have for me; I know the ones I have for myself. Why did I do this? Why did I use the agreement for my benefit? It was always there, the offer of being able to use it for my own gain. Ask and if he wants to, if he's feeling benevolent, I shall receive, yet at the time, the idea never crossed my mind, this was for everyone else back then. Now, I can't help but wonder how far I could use this to my advantage, with Vince's backing, it would be like strapping a rocket to my back, every doubter, every critical voice would melt away, I could be where I _deserve_, but it wouldn't be through my own hard work. That's the crux of the problem. I could use this for my own advantage, but if I do, it will be tainted, yet it already is, if he pushes for me to turn face, it won't be because I argued my case well, it won't be because Creative agreed with me, it'll be because I let Vince and a dildo fuck me. This was my choice, this was my decision and I can't even begin to describe how much I hate that I made it. I've never been one for taking the easy way out of things, and for all that it hurt, it was the easy way.

The easy way... Vince, himself, presents me with a host of problems. Every time I think, I have a handle on him, every time I think I know what to expect, he confounds me. He wanted to double fuck me. What happened wasn't really a double fuck, double penetration, at most, is what he got. When he saw I wasn't enjoying it, he stopped, changed course. It was almost as though _he_ didn't like it, didn't enjoy seeing me in pain, didn't enjoy seeing me not enjoy it. So long ago, he told me he wanted my tears, and now he stops what he's doing because I don't like it. How am I supposed to interpret that? What am I supposed to do with this new mask he seems so fond of wearing, clemency in place of cruelty. The change in him, it all took place in his beach house, the place he wants me to go back to at the end of the month, where he wants to _play_. The Monet back of the whipped slave keeps popping up in my mind, desperate _thank you_ and gentle strokes over his bruised skin. Vince isn't as cruel as he could be, as cruel as he perhaps _wants_ to be. This next trip, it could be when he takes the kid gloves off, when he lets me see the full extent of his desire to dominate me.

Dominating me is what Vince seems to want, to see me bend and bow to his will. It's the only explanation for why he demanded I call him sir, the only plausible reason for why he calls me pet. Being dominated, it's not something I want or like, it's a concession to the agreement, but the pleasure I get out of it is something unexpected. I enjoy, physically at least, mentally it's still _hell_, the feeling of him fucking me. It's taken me a long time to accept this, in my head even if nowhere else, but being fucked by a man can, and often does, feel good. It all makes me wonder if it would feel better if it wasn't tainted.

_("There was always a part of me that hoped one day, you'd give in to me, that you'd get bored of changing girlfriends like they were socks.")_

Colt, he's always wanted me to give into him, has been waiting for me to get bored. I'm not bored, I'm denied, is that the same thing? I'm forbidden from women, and I'm being fucked by a man, it's reasonable that I would start considering being fucked by a man whom I love. At least that's how I'm justifying that damn video being on my mind.

I pull into a truck stop and order a coffee, stalling getting back to Chicago, stalling to spend more time with my thoughts. I don't know what I'm doing; I don't know what I'm going to say to Colt. I do know that no matter what images flicker through my head, nothing can happen between us, not just because of the agreement with Vince, but because it would ruin us. Our friendship is one of the few relationships I have that I _need_. If we fucked, even if it was the best, most wonderful fuck, all tender and sweet, and I have no doubt that it would be; Colt would be so gentle with me, so fucking careful to make sure I enjoyed it, it would change us. I don't need our dynamic to change, I need my best friend, I need him as he is, I need him to be Colt, my goofy, faithful, loveable best _friend_. What he needs is me to be the same, grouchy, ill-tempered Punk I always am, no matter what he thinks, he doesn't need me as anything more to him. It'll destroy our friendship; our love; _philia_ not _eros_, and I need to make him understand that. I need to draw that line in the sand, that line that we can't cross, and I need to make him understand it's there, not just for me, not just for him, but for _both_ of us.

When I get back to the car, Vince's cell beeps, a text, not a call, thankfully.

_Creative and I have talked. Well done, pet, you're a face once more. Rest, heal, you've earned it, Pet._

Its official then, I earned my reward, got what I wanted, but at what cost? My morals, my principles, my dignity? Is getting to have a better storyline really worth these things to me? I can't do it again, I can't, but it would be so easy. He didn't even take what he wanted from me; not really, getting him to concede to giving me more could be so very easy... And I'm back at the problem of Vince, which leads to the problem of Colt, which leads to the problem of the agreement, which leads back to Vince. Round and round, I feel like I've taken a trip to a Lakeside Amusement Park, I want off the Merry-Go-Round before Alessa shows up, I'm not sure I've got enough ampoules to deal with her too.

If I'd thought that driving to Chicago would give me the time to come up with answers I needed, I was wrong. Instead, by the time, I hit the city limits, I've just confused myself more, answers and solutions seem to be further away than ever. I want the simple, straightforward life; I had months ago, back. I want to unaware of everything I know now, I want not knowing how good being with a man can be back, I want having actual confirmation of Colt's feelings gone, I don't want to be in this position. I want to be ignorant of so many things I have such intimate knowledge of, but there's nothing I can do about it, I know these things and I need to confront them, I need to _deal_ with this. I sit in the rental car a moment longer, staring at the quiet street, the other empty parked cars, trying to think of nothing, the swirling thoughts in my head refuse to clear, no matter how I long for a simple moment of peace, I don't get it, but at least I tried.

I can hear the TV from inside my apartment as soon as I open the door. Colt is here, and he's going to want to talk, want answers. This is where I'm going to have to lay all of this out in black and white, no more shades of gray.

"Hey Punkers." He sounds tired, looks tired, slumped on the couch watching the news, something depressing and bloody.

"Hi." I stand by the door and consider my options, there's the armchair or there's the couch beside him, neither seem overly attractive right now. I sit in the chair he'll know something is wrong from the word go, I sit on the couch, and same problem really.

"You gonna stand by the door all day?" He sits up slightly and I sit down by him carefully. "He hurt you." His tone drops, cold and hard. I shrug, Vince did hurt me but he stopped, he pulled the dildo from me when I asked, he might have hurt my body but he's hurt my mind so much more. Colt's arm wraps around my shoulders and he draws me close, bundles me up in him, holding me tight for a few minutes before letting me go. "You okay?" I nod and scrub at my eyes. "You look like hell, Punkers."

"Colt, we need to talk." I kick my shoes off and bring my knees up under my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs. "There's some _stuff_ we need to talk about." He sighs and switches the TV off.

"You wanna do this now?" He asks me. I don't but the sooner we get this over with the better. "You look like you're gonna pass out." I glance at him; his eyes are narrowed, looking at me critically. I nod at him and he frowns.

"No point in putting it off, Colt. _This _has gone on long enough." I yawn and he shakes his head. "I need..." I yawn again and he turns my face towards him, his eyes focused on mine, something horribly wounded in them, some awful pain that I know would never be there if it wasn't for me. "I need..." The words for what I _need_ won't come to me, I can't even begin to be able to work out how to say anything to him and he pulls me close. My head under his chin, his hand moving over my back slowly.

"You need to be quiet, Punkers. Right now." His voice is soft, soothing, just like the hand on my back. "You _need_ to sleep. Its okay, whatever it is you want to say, it can wait for a few hours. Just go to sleep." He settles against the arm of the couch, pulling me with him, cradling me against his chest, his hand still moving up and down. It was a long drive home, a long drive made longer by pain, and in his arms, I'm safe, and sleep comes over me quickly.

"Always so unfair." That tone of voice, soft and pitched so quietly, Colt talking to me in my sleep once more. I lay still, feigning sleep. I can feel his fingers trailing over my face carefully, he must have moved from under me at some stage. "You're either totally a bastard or totally oblivious, and I'm never sure which it is." He sighs softly. I wish he's stop touching me like this, gentle caresses of my face and hair that remind me far too much of Vince, I don't want there to be anything linking them in my mind. "Maybe, it's me who's unfair though, hmm?" He sighs again and moves away from me, his voice growing distant. "Pining for what I can't have. It's unfair to you, unfair to me. I should move on, but I'm scared. Scared to let you go, scared to keep you too close. I'm terrified of you, Punkers." He laughs softly and I hear him moving around some more, I'm not sure, where he is in the living room, a part of me wants to shake off this facade of sleep, but a bigger part wants to hear what he has to say. Yet, it seems he's done, I hear him flop onto the armchair, the TV rapidly changing station in a habit he must have picked up from me. I have a hard time choosing what to watch when my mind is too busy, so I click through the stations, never seeing anything. It used to drive Colt mad, I remember him snatching so many remotes from me, but it seems my bad habits have rubbed off on him. I fall back asleep to the sound of rapidly changing TV stations.

"Is there food in?" I think I've slept maybe three hours before hunger wakes me, Colt's sprawled in the armchair, the remote in his hand, the TV playing some kids show. He shrugs and doesn't look at me.

"Your house, you should know." He sounds listless, looks like all of the energy has been drained out of him. I can't help but wonder if I missed more of his one-sided conversations, one where he came to some kind of grim realisation. He looks grim.

"Delivery?" I hold up my cell and he shrugs again, still not looking at me, not once has he even glanced at me. I order and sit up, staring at his apathetically sprawled form. "What?" The question is out before I fully considered it. He _finally_ turns to me and looks at me, but simply shakes his head, turning away quickly.

"_What?_" I stand in front of him, blocking his view of the TV. "What's wrong?" He shakes his head again and nudges me with his foot, trying to get me to move.

"It's nothing." He won't look at me, and it's infuriating. I stand on his foot and he glares up at me. "Oww! The fuck was that for?"

"What's wrong?" I demand, I can't take this weird silent treatment, it's the sort of shit I pull, I don't need him doing it to me, he has to be him, not a weird amalgamation of both of us.

"You were asleep." He says softly and I nod, perching on the arm of his chair, taking the remote from him and clicking through the stations.

"I know, I just woke up." He was the one who told me to sleep; I don't see why that would have him so worked up.

"Dreaming." He takes the remote from me and pulls me down to his lap, his arms wrapping around me tightly. "Screaming." He mutters into my hair, and I freeze in his arms. "_Begging_." His voice is so quiet and toneless, I can't decide if he means I was screaming and begging in pleasure or pain. "I hate this" Even quieter, almost a whisper. "Hate that I can't help you." Only just audible. _I want to_ half heard as he whispers it into my hair. Screaming and begging in pain then. I let him hold me, let him keep me in his arms, feel him trembling slightly, carefully ignoring the growing damp in my hair. The thought that this might be hurting him _so_ much, that my situation has moved him to tears is too much for me to bear, so I ignore it. I just sit on his lap, wrapped up in his arms and let him have this; at least till the delivery guy comes. He lets me go without protest, doesn't try to hold me back in his arms, and I can't help but read more into that. He probably didn't mean for me to see it as symbolic, but he didn't fight on letting me go, held me only as long as I would let him. I'm reading too much into this, I know I am.

We eat in awkward silence, me carefully not looking at him, as he swipes at his eyes, and Colt carefully not moving from his spot on the chair. Silence sits heavy over us, there's never this painful silence, _never_ are things like this between us. Vince and his agreement is weighty and painful, hanging over the room. I've never considered whether I have nightmares before, but I suppose that it's been confirmed that I do. Nightmares with screaming and begging, nightmares that are enough to scare Colt. Colt, who is already scared of me, scared to keep me, scared to let me go, terrified of me. I push the food away from me and curl up on the couch.

"You can forget this, you know." I don't look at him; just stare at the TV screen. He breaths out slowly, trying to keep himself in check.

"I can't." He says shortly. "You've told me now, I can't just _forget_ it, Punk."

"Colt, there's nothing you can do." Another long, slow exhale, and he stands up, walks to the window, drawing the curtains.

"I know that, but... It doesn't change the fact I want..." He trails off and sits in the chair again, curled in on himself.

"You want?" It's a stupid, cruel question to ask. I may claim that Vince is cruel, but the reality is I'm worse. I'm certain that there are people Vince loves, certain that his family has never faced his full extent of his cruelty, yet here I am poking and prodding at a gaping wound in one of the people I love the most. Perhaps Vince and I are a better fit than I'd care to think.

"I want..." He sighs again, straightens and looks at me, his eyes burning into mine. "You know what I want, Phil." I can't take the weight of his stare so I break it first, turning away to look at the floor, silently hating my plain carpet.

"This is my mess, Colt. You don't need to be involv-"

"Phil!" He snaps and I close my eyes, I can't bear to look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me."You told me for a reason, you _need_ someone, you need _me_." I swallow and shake my head, I need him but it's not fair. He's been so very right every time he's called me unfair, I am, desperately, brutally unfair. "Damn it, Phil, fucking look at me." I shake my head again and before I can react, he's in front of me, his hand holding my chin. "I won't let you do this alone." His lips brush over my forehead, horribly soft and intimate.

"_Don't_." I sound so fucking pitiful, it's embarrassing. I clear my throat, and lean back on the couch. "You're right you know." He looks confused, and I wish I'd considered this before blurting it out. "Every time you call me unfair, I am. I'm unfair, I'm selfish, I'm cruel and you know it." He stares at me, something clouding his eyes, something I don't know. "You'd be so much better off, far, far away from me, Scott." My hands move without me thinking about it, drawing his face close to mine, our foreheads pressed together. "I love you, I do but not in the way you want." He pulls away from me, stands and walks back to the window, behind the couch, out of my field of vision.

"You love me?" He sounds more amused than anything, bitterly amused. "Ha, _really_, Philip? You love me?"

"I do." I flop onto my back, and stare up at the ceiling. I can see him in my mind; can see the incredulous look of bitter amusement on his face, as if I'd just told him an awful joke. He snorts a laugh and leans over the back of the couch, staring down at me. "I love you, you're my best friend. I love you more than most anyone else on the planet." His hand cups my cheek, his thumb moving over the bags under my eye.

"Just not the way I love you?" I can't read his expression, its dark though, whatever it is he's feeling, he's not happy about it. "How do I love you, Phil?"

"Eros." I say softly and he looks horribly confused.

"Eros?" His eyebrows knit; he takes his hand from my face and stares down at me.

"There's four kind of love, Colt." I wonder if it would be easier to have him watch a documentary, explaining it to him might be difficult.

"I know, I saw that." He shakes his head and smiles at me. "You're wrong though." I stare up at him; any confusion he might have felt is now tenfold in me. "I want you, I won't deny that." He looks at me critically and shrugs. "But eros isn't the word I would use to describe how I love you, Punkers." His tone is so soft, so filled with fondness, his eyes gentle as they gaze down at me. "Agape." Unconditional love, love regardless of the actions of the one you love, caring without restriction, without boundaries. I shake my head, he can't love me that way, I don't deserve that.

"Colt." I don't deserve his devotion, even if in truth, I probably love him that deeply, love without physicality, love for who he is, unconditional love for my idiot best friend. He shakes his head and smiles down at me.

"You're not gonna get rid of me, Punkers. I'm here, right behind you." I stare up at him, he can't be involved in this though, it's my mess. "Stop it." He swats the end of my nose.

"Stop what?" I mutter, one hand up to guard my nose from further assault, it's been broken plenty of times, I don't need it snapped again.

"Trying to think of how to get rid of me." He sighs. "You're not gonna, so give up."

"The agreement, I shouldn't have involved you." I stare up at him, the angle making it difficult to see his eyes. "I-"

"You did though. I'm willing to bet you didn't even think twice before calling me." I shake my head. His hand catches one of mine and he laces our fingers together, resting our joined hands on my chest. "You called me, told me and I know. I'm not going to forget, I'm not going to abandon you. So stop trying to make me." His thumb strokes the back of my hand, I manage a slight nod, and he leans further over. "Good, I won't leave you, Punkers. I love you too much for that." His lips brush my forehead as he talks, and it's all too much. I wriggle my hand free, and squirm off the couch, standing to look at him, draped as he is over the back of the couch.

"You have to stop this." I glare at him. "Yes, I'm being fucked by a man, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna magically decide I want you to fuck it all better, Colt." He laughs softly and straightens.

"As I recall, you asked me to fuck you once, show you how good being with a man can be." He smirks, I'd forgotten about that, forgotten how I'd thrown myself at him that afternoon, forgotten how he'd turned me down.

"I..." Something in my expression must have been off, because I'm wrapped up in his arms before I can get another word out.

"It's okay, I was teasing. I just... I wanna see you smile." His voice is soft in my ear. "This is impossible for me, it has to even worse for you, Punkers, I know." He presses a kiss to the side of my head and squeezes me tightly. "You asked me what I wanted, remember?" I nod, my own arms wrapping around him, my eyes closing. "I want to be your sanctuary, I want to be where you're safe, where you can smile." I almost laugh at him, he is where I can smile, he is where I'm safe, he _is_ my sanctuary, that's why I told him in the first place.

"Okay." I sound so small, but it doesn't feel like it matters, not right now. What matters in this moment is that I'm safe, the line in the sand, it seems to be understood. Colt might want me, but he realises that nothing will come of it, nothing can come of it. He just wants me safe, wants me happy, wants to be my best friend.

* * *

I return to work and before I know it, I'm losing to Morrison at Vengeance. I'd expected to lose but not to him. I love John, he's a great guy but, I'm better than him, putting him over, it pisses me off a little. In one of our rather vanilla sessions after the match, I mention this to Vince and he actually laughs at me, asks what I would give him to win the title. I froze up at his words; I can't use the agreement for my own benefit again. I let him DP me, I had honestly thought that might earn me the right to go over on Morrison. I pointed that out and he shook his head, told me my time would come. He mentioned the playroom once more, asked me if I had thought on it any. Honestly, I'd decided to not decide till I was there, so I'd shrugged and made a noncommittal noise in response. There are other things to focus on, there's weeks before I need to make a choice, and right now, I can't comprehend agreeing to going into that place with him.

The problem is weeks fly by too quickly, I'm stuck in this feud with Morrison, match after match I lose. I like John, I do but we have no chemistry, none at all, we don't click, our matches are wooden affairs. Every time Vince calls me to him after one, I know I'm sullen, he asks me what I thought of my match and every time, I have no answers, I shrug. I'm not happy with them, I can do better, I've no doubts that John can do better. Vince tells me that I would make a fine champion each time, and I want to demand to know why he won't just put the fucking strap on me then. I consider calling Colt, but for all it feels like we've resolved something between us, it's not the same. I was convinced that having sex would ruin us, that being more would ruin our friendship; it seems that the status quo might ruin it as well. I don't know where we stand, so I don't reach out to him, I reply when he texts but I offer nothing. I'm a cruel, selfish man, who reacts like a tortoise to fear, I hide in my shell, only Colt has always been on the inside with me, but no more. I need to be strong enough to get through all of this without him.

The end of the month comes far too quickly, an expensive car drops me off at Vince's home and I walk up the drive, knocking nervously. He greets me with a smile, his hand pulling the tie from my hair before even speaking.

"Have you made up your mind, pet?" He asks me as he takes my bag, I have to wrestle the first day I'm free so I packed my gear.

"My mind, sir?" I trail along behind him, following as he leads me to the white room.

"About playing." He pushes open the door and sets my bag down. "Lay on the bed, pet." I toe my shoes off and do as he asks, my eyes on him. "Look up, pet." I can't remember the last time he called me Punk, it is always pet now, it's beginning to wear on my nerves, but there's nothing I can do about it. I look up at the ceiling and stare. He lies down beside me, gathers me close, pulling me so that I'm lying on my back on top of him. The snow-white ceiling is gone; in its place is the night sky, a delicate recreation of the pollution free sky you can see here. It's beautiful. "Do you like it?" His voice is as soft as the caresses he's giving my skin.

"I... It's beautiful, Vince. Thank you." I can't believe how beautiful it is, every little flicker of paint capturing something so intrinsically impossible to catch. The stars fascinate me, what we see, what we admire is so false, the reality of them is so different to the appearance, I've always, rather vainly, seen something of myself in the night sky. How I look, and how I am are so radically different. Perception versus reality is something that's always intrigued me.

"You're welcome, pet." He turns me in his arms, draws me in for a kiss and holds me close. "Tell me, which star is that?" He points up at the ceiling, and we play another round of what constellation is that.

The weekend passes much like the last, he leaves me alone for the most part, shows me to his library though, leaves me alone with so many books that I've wanted to read but never found the time. He seemed incredibly amused by my decision to read Moby Dick, but it's something I've always wanted to read, I think Ahab and I have something in common really. There is one major difference, on Sunday afternoon; he called me up to his office, asked me to read in there with him. A few times, I caught him staring at me, the look in his eyes wasn't heavy with lust, it was softer, fond almost, and it freaked me out. His number one rule was that feelings play no part in all of this, but it feels scarily like Vince may be ignoring his own rule. I can't handle that thought, so I force it from my mind, focus on the white whale and the madman hunting it. Over the course of that afternoon, Vince asked my opinion of several angles, it was strange. He seemed to be scribbling down my words, seemed to be paying attention to what I was saying, seemed to be genuinely interested in picking my brain and it confused me. By the time, I leave his house, my body was sore, but it was with familiar pain, nothing new happened to me, only Vince fucking my ass and throat, nothing out of the ordinary. I'm pleased to say I never once slept in his room, never once did I set foot in there, I'm less pleased to admit that every night, he lay with me in his arms asking me about the painted sky in the white room though.

Time passes and I wonder if Vince is overly angry that I didn't go into the playroom with him. He hasn't summoned me to his room, he hasn't shown up at ECW, no awkward text messages, no phone calls, nothing, total silence. I'm not complaining, not really but I like it better when I know what I can expect from him. I want him to contact me for more selfish reasons too. I want to tell him I've come to a decision. The feud, it's endless, it's like Chinese water torture, dripping mediocre matches on my soul, rather than water on my forehead. It needs to end, and I _think _I know how to do it.

Eventually, I manage to track him down, being backstage at Raw is unusual but I can explain it away if I have to, even though, I try to stay as hidden as possible, making my way to his office. It's not hard to find where he's set up for the night, I knock and wait, more waiting outside of doors with him on the other side, more being uncertain if I want them to open.

"I don't recall contacting you." He sounds dangerously bored, I lick my lips nervously, and run a hand through my loose hair, glancing in the office, confirming he's alone.

"Please sir." His eyes widen and he steps aside, lets me in and locks the door behind him. I stand in the middle of the room, glancing around trying to find the words, taking note of the poster on one wall _Starry Night_. It looks out of place, looks like it's been rolled and unrolled dozens of times. I can't help but staring at it. Vince takes a seat behind the desk, running his eyes over my body.

"What is it, pet? I'm busy." I shake my head, turn to him, and take a deep breath.

"I have a proposition for you, sir." He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the chair across from him. I sit, ignoring the parts of me that are pointing out how stupid this is, how I'm going to regret this, how this is a terrible idea. "I'll play with you, just end this feud with Morrison." It's done, there's no way to take my words back, his expression is one of triumph. I had a feeling that this never-ending feud had been a tool to grind me down, and it worked. He laughs softly, and I feel sick. What I've agreed to changes things between us, I know it does, those ten little words have changed everything. I've conceded to his dominance, I'm his _fully_ and the smug look on his face says he knows this. He stands and walks behind my chair, his hands clutching at my shoulders.

"You understand what this means, Pet?" His hands tighten and I think that perhaps I don't. I fear the pain he could inflict on me, but I know that after the pain would come the comfort. Comfort and protection, two things I've always craved, two things that Colt offers me without thought, two things Vince seems willing to give me, if I earn it. For reasons I can't fully understand, the later of the two is easier for me to accept. "You'll be mine, to use as I see fit."

"I understand, sir." I swallow and wish I was facing the other way, wish I could stare at that poster pinned to what is temporarily his wall.

"You'll have a safe word, if it's too much you can use it." I nod, grateful for this concession. "I think, I might be willing to agree to this, but I want proof of your obedience to me." His breath is on my neck, his tongue flicks over the ghost of his mark, almost gone from lack of attention. I tilt my head, giving him better access, a little show of submission. "On your knees." I slide from the chair, onto my knees, my head bowed; his fingers raise my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "My next meeting is in thirty minutes." I nod and he leans against the desk. "Strip." I blink at him, but comply, no matter how much I want to refuse, no matter how much I want to remind him that backstage is off limits, I want out of this painful feud more. "Bend over, spread your pretty legs, pet." I do as he asks and I feel his breath on my ass, his tongue diving into my hole without preamble. I choke back a startled moan. It's a horribly pleasing feeling, being rimmed by him; his tongue is strong, wet and writhing inside of me. His fingers join his tongue; he's ruthlessly efficient in opening my body for him. "I've no lube." He mutters and spits at my asshole.

"Sir!" I manage to keep my voice low enough to not be heard outside of the room. "In my jeans." He chuckles behind me. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I came prepared, in the back of my mind I knew Vince would push me, would test my commitment, so I came prepared. I hear him rustling with my clothes and then the sound of his zipper. Before long one of his fingers, slicked in lube breaches my body, he fucks it in and out quickly and then fills me with his cock, pushing slowly inside of me. He sets a brutal pace, his fingers clamped on my hips; I can only hope that my trunks will cover the bruises he'll be leaving behind. I'm grateful that I timed this well, the chance of someone catching us is negligible, at this time, most of the boys are in the gym and the crew are setting up the ring, the sounds of our skin slapping together, his quiet grunts and my stifled moans are for our ears only. I'm relieved, I need this to stay between us, well and Colt, for the sake of my own pride, I need this to stay a secret. Our bodies move together in a practiced rhythm, we're accustomed to one another by now, I know when to tighten and when to relax my muscles to bring him off quickly, he knows how to touch my cock to get me to come. It doesn't take too long before he's filling me with his cum, my own splashing on the wood of the desk. His cum inside me, it's still not something I'm happy about but, I'm more used to it. It worries me how normal sex with him is becoming, how it's something that I've accepted. There are times when I'm alone, when I'm masturbating, the feeling of a cock inside me is something my body seems to almost _crave_. It's something I avoid thinking about, the fact that I play with one of the many dildos he's given me, so often is something I don't let cross my mind.

"We'll arrange another few days." He says suddenly, I nod and start getting dressed. "Do a good job and you'll get your belt, pet." His hand cups my cheek once I'm dressed. I didn't ask for the title, I just wanted out of this feud. I swallow heavily and his teeth worry at the mark on my neck. "Clean up after yourself, pet." He points to the cum I spilt on the desk, I look about for a box of tissues and he catches my chin in his hand, his thumb moving over my lips. "Lick it up." I stare at him, his eyes hard and bored. I sink to my knees and lap at my cum, humiliation burning over me. "Don't swallow, c'mere." I stand and he draws me in for another kiss, his tongue licking at every inch of my mouth, as though he was chasing every drop of my cum. "Good boy." His hands cradle my face, when he stops kissing me. "Come to my room tonight, pet." It _almost_ sounds like a question, _almost_.

"What time, sir?" I ask him, as he leads me to the door, his hands still on my face, they finally move through my hair and pull me in for another kiss.

"Be there, wait for me." He says softly, one hand slips into his suit jacket and he produces a hotel room key. "Order something to eat, relax, pet." His lips brush over mine and he pulls away from me, unlocks the door and opens it. I'm being dismissed. "Later, Punk." He says softly and closes the door with me on the other side, staring at it in confusion. What the hell just happened?

* * *

**Thank you everyone for reading! Please remember to review, we hope you are enjoying this story so far!  
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**litleone1389- Thank you for the great review, I agree I think sometimes Punk is more confused by Colt then Vince, with Vince he knows what to expect, with Colt he is playing a guessing game. Hope you liked this chapter!**

**BrokenSpell77- You will get another full weekend at Vince's very soon! Thank you for your review, don't worry Punk's confusion with his body finding pleasure is far from over. Vince's actions are very confusing to our Punk, hell I think Cince's actions are confusing to Vince himself!**

**Rebellecherry- Thank you, here is more and we hope you enjoyed this chapter! Vince's tenderness is nice when it occurs, athough as I said above I think it confuses Vince also!**

**ClarellyJelly- Thanks for reviewing, glad to see you are enjoying this.**


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